For the Republic: Part 18

A/N: Hello! Thank you for reading! And thanks to Tasca Lumina and Venga Fett for the wonderful betas. This one's a little shorter because I thought the events covered deserved their own chapter. We're so close now; only four more chapters! MTFBWY! - Lene

---

Sehorn, 3 weeks after Foerost

Revan’s face was small in the comm unit. Though a mask covered her features, there was no doubt as to her mood. “What, exactly, don’t you understand, apprentice?!” The venom in her voice was undeniable, but Malak didn’t flinch as he felt the Force shudder around him. She was on the Star Forge, after all; he was either safe or dead. There was no in-between at this distance. She could kill him, but anything less powerful would never make it. And she needs me…

---

Star Forge

Even without using the aid of the Force, she knew his thoughts. He thought she still needed him. He thought she still wanted him. Somewhere in Revan’s mind a voice laughed, shrill and sour. No longer the shy giant of the enclave—he had awakened to himself in that silent forest…with Jaq, with the others. How you’ve changed, husband…

“What, exactly, don’t you understand, apprentice?!”

“I do not understand why you want to attack Eriadu when Coruscant is vulnerable and unprotected. We could easily take it, destroy it, and demonstrate our might before the entire galaxy!” His mechanical voice rose to a grandiose, triumphant tone, rife with the darkness within him.

It was almost comical, but Revan’s rage extinguished any urge to laugh. “There’s a reason I want a bloodless victory, dammit. A death toll’s only a number, but it’s the kind of number that unites people and allies them against their enemies. If we provide a death toll, we provide a reason to hate us, a way to defeat us—”

“We cannot be def—”

“Malak! Silence.” He glowered at her, but did not speak. “Hate, Malak. It is a powerful motivator, is it not? It could be used to press a rebellion. If they surrender willingly—”

“Willingly? You are not the first to try this Revan, and you are not the first to utter such words. There are lessons to learn from history. Even Mandalore should have taken Coruscant immediately, instead of working his way toward it from the rim and chipping away at the Republic. A direct strike would have been most effective.”

The sardonic laugh from behind his metal jaw sent a shivering shock through Revan’s mind. He made eye contact with her and held her gaze. “It cost him the war, as you well know. The historical evidence cannot be denied.”

“You would charge on Coruscant, destroy the very center of order in the galaxy, and plunge the Republic into unrest? Chaos?”

“Why not?” His arching brow scratched at Revan’s patience. “It is unexpected.”

“It is idiotic! Think! Force, Malak, I thought you were smarter than this.” Revan sighed loudly. “Just think! Is it Chara that’s got you so excited about violence?”

“I think you are weak, my Lord.” He rolled his eyes as he said it, and she could feel the reignition of her anger, still hotter than before. However, instead of raging at his stupidity, she laughed.

---

Revan laughed, a throaty chortle, unlike any he’d heard from her before. Like previous ill-fated ventures, she would fail. How could she not? Her intentions might be different—almost noble, even—but the method was the same. They could forcibly take the Republic, secure all of its power at once, and ensure that they were—

“Malak, you power hungry cannock! What would you do with such power? That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“You spout, ‘For the Republic,’ while I seek action—”

“You seek violence for violence’s sake. What have you been doing in that grove?”

“It’s none of your—“

“Silence! I am your master, and you would do well to remember it in the future.” He watched her raise a hand, not believing she was capable, and suddenly, he was closing his eyes, breathing through the pain she inflicted across space. How can she? Held…something…back…

In a whisper, he answered her. “Yes, Master.” The pain subsided, as quickly as it had begun.

---

“We are done, Malak.”

“Wait, Revan! M-master. I insist…you take me with you. We have plenty of hunters now; my work here is complete. Allow me to accompany you to Eriadu.” While she sensed his insincerity easily enough, Revan had to admit that his presence might present a more united front.

Dismissively, she said, “Fine. We shall depart as soon as you arrive at the Star Forge.”

---

Sehorn

As the channel went dead, Malak seethed, allowing his suppressed anger to come to fruition. The woman he had been breaking before Revan interrupted whimpered at his approach.

---

Star Forge, one week later

For hours, Revan had replayed their conversation, searching for the source of Malak’s indignant behavior. He doesn’t respect me. I’m still his wife, in his head. The wife he married on Telos. The wife he saved on Malachor V. Just a girl, really. She needed to remedy that.They were no more husband and wife than they were followers of the Light. I’m his master. He needs to understand that, at least.

She knew he was having kriffing the people he broke. Enough spies had told her as much that it wasn’t even a question, anymore. And on this simple truth, an idea began to form. If he could have ‘lovers,’ why couldn’t she?

Revan found them in the training rooms, some of her newest recruits from the outer rim, ignorant of the Force, and eager to please their Lord. And they did, to a point. Beside her lay the fifth, a statuesque young man with blond hair and swimming blue eyes. He’d smiled prettily after they made love, and told her she was beautiful as she folded into his arms.

There was a tremble in the Force as Malak approached. Revan felt it to her core, keenly aware of his progress through the Star Forge. His anger had cooled, replaced by a dull malice that heralded his arrival. The soldier stirred as Revan climbed out of bed. Shh. Sleep. Sleep a while longer. The man stilled, sinking instantly back into slumber. This should prove…interesting, at the very least. She donned the mask and black robes—Ulic, what would Master Nomi and Master Vima think of me now? —and made her way to the door. A bit more sparring was just the sort of distraction she needed.

As she left the apartment, Revan was careful to check the locking mechanism. Wouldn’t want it to block any visitors. She smiled beneath her mask when she found that there was no voice of reason to berate her, no pang of guilt. It was liberating.

Less than an hour later, Revan felt a large release of power and it was intoxicating. What took him so long? She had to stop herself before nearly decapitating her sparring partner.

---

“Schutta! Where are you?!” He glared at the charred body discarded among the remnants of Revan’s bed clothes. She wasn’t there. Of course, it was a setup. Perhaps even a cruel joke? How many? How many has she had? And right here in the open! We are STILL MARRIED; she is STILL my WIFE! His anguish and desolation paled only in comparison to his swelling rage, and lightning struck the body again, bringing forth more smoke and renewing the acrid scent that already suffused the room.

The door whooshed open and Revan sauntered in, nonchalantly glancing at the charred mess of her bed. “Hello, husband. Miss me while you were on Sehorn?”

“He is dead, bishwag. You don’t have anything to say about this?” She shrugged at him, her face a mystery behind that damnable mask. “How many, Revan? Just tell me how many?”

“Enough, apprentice. As many as I needed.” He tried to respond, but his mind rebelled as Revan removed her mask. The cool smile it hid seemed to disarm any kind of retaliation. I loved her. I thought I did not; I was certain I could not; but, I loved her, even until moments ago. But, I won’t be her fool. This is too much.

“Come, this matter is behind us. We must look to the future: our future, the future of the Republic. We depart for Eriadu immediately.”

“I killed your lover.”

“So?” She strode purposefully out of the room.

Watching the prime opportunity pass before him, Malak acquiesced, following his Dark Lord toward the docking bays, a mere shadow to her powerful presence. I will find a way to…to make her hurt as much as I. She cannot truly be so in control. I will find a weakness.

---

En route to Eriadu, burgeoning industrial capital of the Republic

The bridge of the Leviathan bustled with activity. One of the last surviving Interdictor-class ships in the fleet, it was also the best outfitted of Revan’s vessels, equipped with the newest plasma cannons available. Not that she planned to need them, but they did make a good show of force. Malak stood solemnly beside her, brooding. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words since their departure and these had been reverent “Yes, Masters” and “As you wishes.”

I could get used to that, she thought. Aloud, she said,“Malak, I’m tired. We won’t be there for a while and I haven’t slept in ages.” She smirked behind the mask as the tips of his anger brushed her mind. “I’ll retire now, but wake me when we arrive at Eriadu City.”

“Of course, Master.” His heavy gaze moved over the mask, then returned to watching the streaking stars of hyperspace.

---

Upon reaching her apartments aboard Leviathan, Revan realized she really was tired. Opportunities for sleep were infrequent, and truly refreshing sleep was even rarer. Closing her eyes, sinking into the bed, she sank into a deep, dream-filled slumber.

The attack was so sudden, as these things often are, and no one was prepared. The screaming people, burning flesh, too many staring faces unable to cry. So many just lay where they fell, curled for protection: shock. Buildings smoked, collapsed in on themselves, becoming tombs. Plasma cannons were still firing down on them at random intervals, booming and rumbling like thunder in the distance.

She’d been here before. But, it wasn’t the Mandalorians, after all. She glanced around for the couple she knew she would meet and shivered at the memory of their horrible, familiar faces.

Refugees flooded out of the city, and she was wandering the paths they took, leaving their trail of dead and dying, too numb to care, to notice...A child's crumpled form lay, discarded, in the corner of a courtyard...Black smoke issued from charred homes...bodies...Every pane of glass was shattered, every door unhinged...On the road, between blocks of broken houses, two dirty balls of robes...She approached, preparing to pass them up, not to look at another corpse...He was alive...He was holding a woman, stroking the blood-caked hair, caressing the cold, dead cheek...She paused, mesmerized by such devotion...'I loved you...I was here...I couldn’t protect her...this wasn't supposed to happen'...the man looked up at her, his face smudged with blood...'it could have been prevented'...the nameless face of the woman lolled beside him, dead eyes wide and staring at Revan accusingly. And she whispered, ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ her voice falling flat and bland against the backdrop of destruction.

---

Five hours later

Revan awoke in a panic and cold sweat to a dark room, disoriented and unsure of her surroundings. Tripping to a wall panel, she brought the lights to full intensity, banishing the last of her tired confusion. But the noise continues!

She slipped on her boots, robes, and mask, and punched the door mechanism. Nothing happened. She slapped it, again. Still nothing. More booming and crashing, distant yet near enough to be of some concern. What’s going on? A small, sporadically blinking word on the door panel caught Revan’s attention.

“Locked,” she whispered. “Locked! Malak!” Raising a hand, Revan’s Force waves slammed the door out into the corridor. Without hesitation, she began running, mumbling to herself, “I can’t believe it. No, dammit, I can! I should have known he’d try something…Eriadu would have been a useful ally.” A new thought occurred to her, bringing her to a dead stop, another cold sweat breaking out along her already perspiring skin: Coruscant?

Forcing her feet to move, Revan continued her enraged diatribe, power building up around her. I'll kill him! She hurried down the deserted corridors, under flashing red bulbs that popped, one-by-one, as her rage brushed past them. The floor panels bubbled and cracked as she stormed onto the bridge of the Leviathan.

“MALAK!”

The sound of metal meeting metal rang across the bridge as Malak’s jaw connected with a bulkhead. Metal against transparisteel, as he slammed against a large viewport.

“Rev—" She slammed him into the viewport again, face planted against the framed image of a desolated planet below. They were in low orbit and the two Sith Lords watched as the Leviathan and the bulk of Revan’s fleet rained destruction onto the surface.

The surface of Telos. A small gasp escaped her lips.

“Lord Revan…”

“No, Karath. I won’t stop them. You know perfectly well that I can’t leave this half-finished.”

“But, I...yes, my Lord.”

“Good man, Karath. Unlike this kath hound, you know your place in my empire.” Still holding Malak against the window, Revan sent a single tendril of lightning into the admiral’s chest, shoving the man against a wall, eyes wide in pain. “Unfortunately, it seems you temporarily forgot it when you changed our course for this cannock and when you fired on the planet below.” She withdrew the lightning and Saul sagged against the wall, trembling, catching his breath. A few of the others edged away from Revan, desperately trying to avoid notice. “You’ve wrecked this planet—a military outpost, no less. A strategically important planet.”

Revan’s gaze was drawn to a cloud of small shuttles floating up into space. Karath noticed, as well. “Shall we…?”

“No, Karath. Let them go. They’ll spread the word around the galaxy, faster than the holonews, faster than the message net. They’ll tell how Lord Revan decimated Telos, conquered it, made it her own.” Karath nodded, still trying to recover his composure. Revan slammed Malak into the window yet again. “We shall make the best of this situation and turn it to our advantage. That is all.”

Malak flew across the room, the back of his bald head smashing into another bulkhead. His eyes rolled, but Revan forced him to focus. “Alright, Admiral, stop the bombing. I think they understand, now.”

Her attention returned to Malak, who was mumbling something incoherent. “What was that, apprentice? Got something to say? Because I know I do: why?”

He mumbled again.

“Speak up, I didn’t catch that.” Her voice hollow, brimming with sarcasm.

“Jedi,” he croaked.

“Jedi?” she asked, relaxing her grip, only slightly.

“From archives. Telos is…the backup location for…the Jedi Council. Dantooine…Coruscant destroyed…go to Telos. Now, nowhere…to hide…”

“Ah, I see. So that’s what this was about? Somehow, I feel that’s not all. Continue, Malak.”

He hesitated a moment, trying to reach the Force, to do something. Revan raised a hand toward him. The threat was enough. “And…and I thought…action…” She could see the fear in his eyes. He realized, now, that she was truly stronger. He understood. “You were…I thought…weak…passive…”

“And…” She didn't really care why he did it—she just liked to see him squirm—so she pressed him farther.

“And…and...” He seemed to grope for words, before, finally, giving up, allowing them all to spew out. “I hate Telos. I hate Telos!” His voice grew louder and his bitterness was palpable. “Telos was the last place in the whole galaxy…we were…we were happy. We were happy, Revan, we were happy. And I can’t stand it!" he screamed.

“Are those…tears, Malak?” She shook her head in disgust, and then raised both hands, grabbing him with the Force and flinging him into a support beam. With many sickening cracks, his back wrapped around it. She twisted his saber arm behind the body, slamming it into an unnatural position, snapping more bones, tearing muscle, shattering it into shredded flesh. Then she tossed him to the floor, an unconscious heap.

“Admiral, you have command of the Leviathan. I’ll be on Victorious. When this trash awakens, put him in a kolto tank and let me know.

He looked as if he had something to say, but, “Yes, Lord Revan,” was all that came out.

Leaning down over Malak’s ear, she whispered, “You hate Telos? Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

---

Victorious, Interdictor-class Sith ship

As Revan took the bridge of Victorious, it was difficult to ignore the somber mood onboard. Her walk through the hallways had been punctuated only by the footfalls and quiet bows and salutes of her soldiers, and the bridge itself was nearly silent. I miss you, Alin. The ship seemed much less inviting without Commander Antilles; he’d been the jovial heart of the vessel. Unfortunately, he’d returned to Coruscant before their departure for the Star Forge.

Shaking her head, somewhat taken aback by the sudden burst of melancholy, Revan brought her thoughts together. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Lord Revan?”

“Contact the Forerunner. Have them dispatch sixteen battalions all along the inhabited side of the planet. I want five hundred able-bodied prisoners, anyone age ten to twenty-five, who can walk on their own.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“They are to take them to Korriban, to a man called Uthar; he’ll know what to do with them.” Perhaps a few will turn out useful at the fledgling academy. It was where Malak’s hunters sent their marks, as well, established as an afterthought, just before the assault on Foerest’s shipyards. Uthar was one of many former Sith who rose to the call of their new Dark Lord.

Revan nodded to the lieutenant, turning away from his nervous gaze. Malak hadn’t wrecked her plans, just thrown them off-course.

He'd given them a cause, her proverbial “death toll.” There would be heroes who thought to incite panic, even resistance, in the name of TelosBetter to let this cool.She’d return to Republic space, eventually. And after I’ve razed a few more planets, they’ll beg to be conquered. They will, indeed, remember Telos, and they’ll surrender before we’re even in orbit. She was flexible. Adaptable.

Suddenly feeling the effects of the massive amount of Force power she’d used, Revan chose to return to her suite, Antilles suite, for the afternoon. Her robes swished loudly as she crossed the nearly silent bridge, smirking at the awed expressions on the crews' faces.

---

Hella, Telos

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Glancing through the small window over the sink, she thought it did look like rain and decided it was time for Dustil to come in before it started. If not, he would ruin another set of clothing and she would be scrubbing muddy stains out of his trousers for days. She leaned out the front door, yelling above the wind, "Dustil!" She knew he heard, he always had a way of hearing when she called. Forcing a smile, Morgana stepped back into the kitchen. It was dinner time, but with Carth gone again, she found every normal activity a loathsome chore, a reminder that he was gone. It would be dinner for two.

Opening the pantry, her eyes fell on a box of spiced toka noodles from Coruscant. "Just add water," as Carth liked to say. A tear rolled down her cheek as she recalled how happy Carth and Dustil had been, sitting on the back stoop slurping the noodles and laughing at each other. Her knees grew wobbly and she closed the pantry, stumbling to the table and flopping into a chair as tears began to blur her vision.

These breakdowns were coming more and more often, lately. They were terribly unlike Morgana's usual, plucky "soldier's wife" attitude. But it was so different this time.

He promised. No more wars. He was going to stay home, maybe open a cantina...and not go near another Republic ship ever again. He promised to be here for us from now on, instead of everybody else in the 'verse.

She tossed the noodles on the table and cradled her face in her hands. Carth, how could you do this to me?! After all we talked about, after you agreed that you were finished with the fleet. That you were going to be a proper husband, a proper father for Dustil... She sighed, still crying as tears pooled on the table beneath her. Carth! Where are you?! He's twelve! You've been here for a grand total of three of those years…if you add-up all of the leave you ever took. She was sobbing now, gasping and shaking, desperately trying to imagine him holding her, whispering in her ear. I miss you, sweetheart...Carth...We both do...

Locking her jaw, swiping at the tears, Morgana finally stood, intent on finding out just why Dustil wasn't inside the house yet. The thunder was much louder now...

It almost sounds like—"NO!" She felt the shockwave before she heard the explosion. Just as she jumped back from the front door, the Onasi home crumbled to the ground around her. "Dustil!"

---

"Dustil!" He heard his mother calling him; she must have noticed the thunder. I didn't realize I was so far from home. The gangly adolescent began the trek back toward their housing block. By the sound of it, he might make it just in time. As usual, walking up the last hill, he held his breath until he saw their yard. No. There were no flowers in the kitchen window. Father was still gone.

The boy sighed, knowing what he would find inside the house. Cracking the door open just a bit confirmed his suspicion, revealing his mother, tired and careworn, slumped over the table. A box of Father's noodles sat in front of her. Oh. He added the noodles to his mental list of items to hide from her.

Dustil closed the door, leaving his mother in peace. He always felt uncomfortable viewing such private moments; and he hated to admit it, but he felt angry at Father for leaving again and breaking his promise. A huge boom of thunder exploded over the nearest mountain, and he decided to ride out the storm in the utility shed, instead, alone with his thoughts. But, in an open patch of yard, between the house and the shed, he froze. A hum in the distance, growing louder, touched upon a memory. That noise...sounds like...If there was one thing Dustil knew, it was ships. He spun around, staring in awe at the Interdictor-class monstrosity lumbering over the mountains in low orbit. Very low orbit. Firing range...The whooshing air smashed Dustil backward as the ship's plasma cannons fired on their housing block, their town, and the hills surrounding it. Destroying everything.

He stumbled to his feet, shaking, bleeding, tears tumbling down dirty cheeks. The particle-leaden smoke in the air choked him, burned his eyes and nose. He looked around, spinning in different directions. Which house?! He was in shock, his motions jerky, hands and legs trembling. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind, "listening" for his mother in the rubble. He turned north, There! Taking a step toward the debris pile, Dustil's legs buckled out from under him. One was sticking out at an odd angle. "Mother!" He focused again, pushing past the pain, forcing it to diminish. Concentrating on his need to find Mother.

Somehow, he crawled into the 'house', or what was left of it. "Mother!" A hand poked out from beneath a rug in the kitchen. Sweeping the rug aside, Dustil's eyes fell on Morgana. Mangled. A devastated rag doll. Her half-lidded eyes acknowledged the boy, but she made no attempt to move. "Mother, what hurts? Are you okay? What can I do?" He knew they were childish questions, but his mind was on auto-pilot and his mother was dying before his eyes.

"I..." A bang in the yard drew his attention. Soldiers in gold uniform were tearing through the ruined houses. A man in green robes was among them. With a jolt, Dustil realized the man was looking right at him. He leaned down, wrapping his arms protectively around Morgana, telling her goodbye because he knew what that man intended. He wasn't sure how, but he knew. "Mother, Mother, I have to go, now. I love you! Mother! Mother!!" He screamed as the men ripped him away from the only constant in his life, placing him in stuncuffs. He strained to hear the soldiers' conversations over the blood rushing through his ears.

"'Public fleet's comin' soon. Gotta blast this rock, if ya know what I mean."

"What about her?"

"She's too broke to be fun, mate. We could shoot her..."

"No mercy for these scum. We leave her." They followed Dustil's captor back to the yard, and into a waiting shuttle. "Besides, we've got her whelp, and I bet he'll have fun with us, wontcha, buddy?" The man's gold helmet inclined toward Dustil, who shuddered.

---

Leviathan, Interdictor-class Sith ship

The young lieutenant paced the bridge of Leviathan, waiting expectantly. Seventeen hours after the assault on Telos, and Lord Revan was still sequestered in her apartments. Lord Malak was floating, unconscious, in a kolto tank. And the Sith armies were hurriedly returning to their ships. The lieutenant had received word from the Forerunner that the prisoners were secure. He’d also received word that the shattered Republic fleet was nearing Telos. Lord Revan didn’t want them to engage the fleet directly, not yet. She reiterated this in every strategy meeting; or, so he’d been told. Apparently, she had plans to use them, later. He rolled his eyes, but quickly looked around that he hadn't been seen.

He watched through a viewport as the last reconnaissance shuttles docked with the Sith fleet, receiving verbal confirmation over the comm. Then, he opened the common channel, issuing the order to begin withdrawal. Just as they initialized the jump to hyperspace, Victorious’ sensors detected the emerging signature of Republic ships. The enormous Sith fleet disappeared as the remnants of the Republic fleet arrived.

---

Endurance, Republic Capital Ship

Carth forgot to take his next breath. The sight of Telos shoved his heart into his throat, clenched his chest. His mouth went dry. His face set, eyes squinted, he was determined not to break down when so many people were about to be depending on them. When he finally remembered to breath, it was a choking gasp, echoed by the other officers nearby. D-Dustil! Morgana… He held off his panic, biting his inner lip and glancing at their commander for instructions.

“Lt. Commander Onasi will take a squad of…of anyone who volunteers to head down to the planet. Medicos and personnel with auxiliary training, please report to the medical bay for a separate drop.” She made a point of meeting Carth’s gaze as she added, “Good luck down there.”

They nearly ran to the shuttle bay—Gotta find them. Cold numbness started to settle in over Carth’s mind as they disembarked for the surface of Telos. I must find them.

---

From a distance, the inhabited hemisphere of Telos was little more than a scarred and pitted crater. As Carth and his squad flew low over the edges of Thani—the only major city on the planet—the occasional skeletal remains of a building emerged, grasping toward them from the rubble. Plumes of smoke boiled up in front of them, obscuring their vision and forcing them into an open field. Most of Carth’s squad hopped out of the shuttle, which hovered only a moment before lifting off. The remainder of his troops knew where they were bound. Home.

They met the sight Hella, a smoking ruin viewed head-on as they topped a ridge of mountains, in silence. Landing on the plains surrounding his ravaged village, Carth was the first out of the shuttle, running, sprinting across the grass and toward the wreckage. It was...there were no words. Destroyed didn't touch the level of devastation. Decimated didn't come close. He cast caution and training aside; somewhere in that mess of fire, rubble, and chaos were Morgana and Dustil.

Carth never knew how, but he ended up in the town square, easily a few miles away from the shuttle. Instincts must have taken over when logic failed. "Morgana!?" Their housing block was another mile further, but he called to her, anyway. Shuffling through ruins that stretched in all directions, calling her name, Carth’s overwhelmed senses began systematically shutting down, until he felt nothing. Nothing, but the distinct need to find his family.

As he drew closer to their street, their house, his knees became liquid, slowing all progress to a halt. Oh, Force... The pile of stone and plaster couldn't rightly be called a house. "Morgana!"

He couldn't grasp at enough courage to scramble over the rubble, searching for his wife’s body, his twelve-year-old son’s body. His family, faces upturned to the sky, eyes open in frozen fear. He stood in the street, mumbling their names. The injured and homeless milling past him paid him no heed. They had their own troubles, and no real consolation could be granted were it offered.

Finally, after many minutes that felt like hours, Carth found the strength to continue. The pain in his chest was tight, cloying, and it took every ounce of his effort to move forward, into his home, into the house he shared with Morgana. That he had only been gone for little more than a week was…was unbelievable. All of those years of neglect were compressed into a singular moment, and every “should have” and “could have” or “maybe later” bubbled to the surface of his mind as he walked. He stopped just outside the front door; no longer a door, actually, just a crooked hole in the wall. Touching the frame, he took a deep breath and forced his feet to move one final time.

“Morgana! Dustil?" Carth shrugged beneath a slanting beam of lumber just inside the front door. The floor was covered in debris; glass, mortar, pieces of their home crunched beneath his boots.

"Morgana! Beautiful! Say something if you're here!" The eerie silence around Carth was punctuated by the calls of other soldiers: parents, spouses, children —all searching for someone they hadn't been there to protect.

The thought echoed through Carth's head, repeating, mocking – I wasn't here to protect them. The emptiness of their home overwhelmed him and Carth collapsed to his knees in the rubble, the palms of his hand grinding into the detritus on the floorboards. He moaned "Morgana," repeating the name as his head hung, heavy, between his shoulder blades and a flood of tears fell to the floor, mixing with the ochre dust of the obliterated walls, a chalky, bloody stain.

Wait! That is blood! Carth scrambled to his feet, cursing the glass embedded in his hands and knees, forgetting the tears still on his cheeks. Another, there. Someone had crawled across the floor, from the kitchen…to the living room…

Morgana was sprawled, deathly still, across the lounger. A layer of the ochre dust covered everything; he could see traces of the trail she'd left as she dragged her broken body across the glass-strewn floor.

"Oh, Beautiful!! Morgana! I'm so sorry." Draping himself across her, hugging her against his chest, Carth gazed down into her ruined face and still saw the beautiful girl he'd married. "I was…I was supposed to protect you!" he yelled, burying his face in her hair.

"…c-carth?"

"Morgana! You're…" In his grief, he had failed to check for a pulse. Her unseeing gaze stared through him. "Lemme get a medic; I'll be right back!"

"N-no…Carth…stay…Dustil…"

"I don't know. I don't know where he is."

"Listen…" Each word sent her gasping for air, the effort sapping the last of her strength. "Dying, Carth…had time to…to think…"

"Shh. Save your strength. You're not dying yet." Jabbing his personal comm, he yelled, "I need medical help, now!"

The comm immediately blared to life. "Yes, sir. We have your coordinates."

With a sigh of relief, he glanced down at Morgana's ashen face. "Hang on, baby."

"…don’t…alone…" She broke into a coughing fit. A collapsed lung. As she started to speak again, he tried to protest, but she cut him off, "…don't…n-not...like me…love…"

"But, Morgana, what are you—? I don't understand…" His voice faded as Morgana’s body started to shudder. He’d never know what she had wanted to say, but it'd seemed important to her. "I love you," he whispered through trailing tears. He held her hand and stroked her cheek even as the shuddering became shaking, became seizing. When he backed away from Morgana—her still, lifeless body—Carth could do little but stare at his blood-soaked hands. He slid down the wall to the floor, as the medicos arrived, too late to save her.