The Cost of Duty

[Galahad Vult]

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It was finally happening. The Sith were invading the Jedha temple.

Last time they were attacked was different. Someone from the Order had betrayed them, stole their flagship and destroyed the hangar bay, killing the Grandmaster and permanently injuring Galahad. It had left ripples in the Order, a wound from which both they and he were struggling to recover. But this time the Empire itself had brought its full firepower to bear, and they threatened to raze the temple to the ground.

They seemed to be searching for someone specific, one Serie Fond, but there was nothing Galahad could do. He held no position of authority — nay, not even his old post in the Temple Guard — and so he had no say in the matter. As far as he knew, there were no prisoners in the temple, but that mattered little. For now, all he was concerned about was evacuating. Galahad had managed to charter a small, private, droid-piloted refugee ship on the outskirts of the moon's spaceport. Not his first choice, sure, but it was secluded and quiet. His friend Austin had already evacuated with his equipment, thank the Force, so the Guardian would be making his escape alone.

Using his lone crutch to support himself, Galahad handed off his small bag of belongings for the droid to stash in the ship. Wiping a bead of sweat off his brow, he paused, having heard footsteps nearby. Pivoting on his good foot, Galahad tried his best to stand upright, wishing his other crutch had not been destroyed on his escapade to Dantooine. "Who goes there?" he called out, cautious but unafraid.

@Deviant​

 

[Leviticus]

The Sith Lord had been visiting Jedha City for the past several days now, lingering in the halls of the Great Temple of the Fanged God. After killing the High Priestess of the Black Hand and absorbing her disciples into the Sith Empire, the man journeyed to their main sanctuary on Jedha in an attempt to gather remaining disciples and seize whatever valuables laid inside. As the new Priest of the Black hand, it was his right. The temple and the contents within were his own. But why ransack and leave? The sanctuary was in prime condition. Behind thick walls and manned by two dozen clerics and devotees. Settled on a world rich in kyber, resources ripe for the taking. Yet the answer was clear: the Jedi Order.

Last time Leviticus was on Jedha, it was when he left the temple to become an Exile. It was then that he murdered his one last friend, Jedi Knight Asher, in an attempt to escape. And for what the Order did to him, he could never forgive. The Sith Lord vowed never to return to the wretched planet, if only to see it razed and wiped from the map. But here he was— so why? It was because that day had indeed come. In the skies above, the Will of the Empress sat in orbit. Turbolasers and turrets trained on the Jedi temple, Andraste and Darth Kravos aimed to consume the sanctuary in a fiery blaze. Nothing would remain. And should the coming bombardment obliterate the rest of city, the Temple of the Fanged God would meet the same fate.

That was why the Sith, along with the disciples stationed at the temple, hauled ass to the outskirts of the city. From there, a transport arrived to ferry them, along what remained in the sanctuary, to Korriban. It went without saying that Levi could not risk seeing priceless antiques and valuable soldiers blasted into oblivion by his own hand. That was collateral damage too costly. Fortunately, the temple was emptied and its possessions ushered off world. All that was needed now was his own departure.

Making his way to the outskirts of the spaceport, Levi sought the same secluded area from which he first left Jedha all those years ago. A Sith shuttle would eventually arrive from the Star Destroyer above and the planet left behind him once more. Yet as he arrived, the vacant landing platform was not so vacant after all. There was another. A witness. And as the stranger called out, Leviticus reared his head into his direction. Although his face was revealed, the man worried not. The stranger leaned against a single crutch and his posture was unsteady. They were no more of a threat to him than an insect.

Levi scoffed, voice coming off more sarcastic than sincere. A poor attempt at a disguise. “Nobody. Just a humble, innocent civilian passing through."

@Shalken

 

[Galahad Vult]

Even at first glance, Galahad could tell the newcomer was far from what he described himself as. The mild sarcasm in his tone hinted at a lack of innocence; his posture belied an air of arrogance and pretension, as though the Knight were far beneath him even though they had just met; and his unprotected aura in the Force, vastly powerful and icy cold, immediately warned Vult this man was no civilian. In fact, it quickly dawned upon Galahad exactly who this person was, and he certainly was doing more than just 'passing through'.⋮⋮ Scruffy features, dark hair and beard...I know who you are, ⋮⋮ he realized. The Knight's brow furrowed as he grasped his crutch tighter, eyes full of suspicion and words filled with defiance and weariness. "Why have you come here, Leviticus? Have you Sith finally decided to pour out your hatred of our kind, destroying our homes one by one? Is it not enough for you to take our Grandmaster and our sacred planets away from us?"

Galahad stood there defiantly, though he knew deep down that if Leviticus decided to attack, there was simply nothing he could do. He was completely unmatched — even if he had full use of both legs, his abilities were inadequate to even defend himself against the Sith, much less defeat him. The Guardian's knuckles grew white as he grasped the rung of his well-worn crutch. It was obvious the supportive tool had seen far more use than a person with a regular wound would make use of, hinting at the permanence of Vult's injury. Nevertheless, there Galahad stood, the old Temple Guard rising up within him as he resolutely held his ground. He refrained from drawing his saber — any act of aggression would be suicide. Of all things he wished to die as, a fool was not one of them.

@Deviant​

 

[Leviticus]

He rolled his eyes into the back of his skull. His contempt and ridicule for the other man was palpable. Far more than the layers of tension rising between them, thick enough to cut with a knife. Although in situations like these, that was precisely what the Sith Lord would do, but with a lightsaber. And the tension was not all he would be cutting through. Seeing how the Jedi waiting ahead sat on one leg and looked like he could drop at the slightest breeze, Levi doubted he posed any real threat. Another fine addition to his weekly quota. Yet as much as he relished in killing Jedi, what more did it give him than momentary satisfaction? There was more to being a Sith than cold-blooded murder.

A thought rang in his mind. The Sith Lord had a knack for broken things. There was Valerian, whose scarred face turned him into an easy tool to influence. Henric Antilles, his alienation from his own kin providing the perfect opportunity for manipulation. Alexei Aristov, left crippled and without feeling in both legs, who he turned into both an apprentice and another useful weapon after a journey to Dathomir. How was this Jedi any different? Leviticus could tell he was struggling. He could sense the blend of fear, caution and defiance woven in his voice. They were just asking for it, and the Sith was just answering the call. Why not tarry a little? Corrupting Jedi made far better entertainment than killing them, he found.

His poise shifted, his voice fell back to its calm, cold approach. Rather than strike the man down at where he stood, he circled him like predator to prey. Words like venom, he answered, “You’re asking the wrong questions—“ Through the Force, he eyed the man’s mind, plucking a name from the mess. As High Arcanist, the move was child’s play. “—Galahad Vult.” A smile tugged at his lips. “What you should be asking is: why haven’t I, Leviticus, come sooner?” He stared at the Jedi straight in the eye. Even without the Force, the Sith aimed to shatter what defiance remained in the other man. They should know better than to speak out against an enemy that could obliterate them in one foul swoop.

“But… your kind?” He mocked him. “We are one and the same, my friend. The Jedi and the Sith. We’re both two sides of the same coin. Have you already forgotten that it was the Order that created the Exiles? That their fear of change gave birth to the very monsters they sought to avoid?” He spoke no lies. Because it was the truth, every word and syllable. “Andraste, formerly Alais Drast. She experimented in the dark side for a single instance, and for it, the Council tried to strip her of the Force and throw her out onto the streets. The former Grandmaster showed her no mercy. But look at her now.” His eyes flickered up to the sky, where the Will of Empress loomed. “The most powerful woman in the galaxy.”

He returned his focus to Galahad, and in particular, his leg. “The dark side is a gift. Its power unfathomable. Imagine what one could do with it. Imagine what I can do.” The Sith made no offer, but he was coaxing him in. Leaving a trail for the Jedi to follow, and at the same time, leaving the threat of his abilities hanging heavy in the air. If the man made a move, he would die.

@Shalken

 

[Galahad Vult]

There they stood across from each other, Sith and Jedi. The former prepared to destroy, the latter equally prepared to be destroyed. However, though Galahad expected his opponent to engage him in debate, the Guardian was caught off guard when Leviticus instead called him by name and countered his questioning with another question, one that the Knight did not immediately know how to answer. The fact the Sith Lord had so quickly and easily read Galahad's mind was disconcerting to him, though perhaps not surprising. He had not shielded his thoughts in any way, and silently admonished himself for not doing so — he quickly put up the defenses in his mind, a likely futile attempt in the face of someone vastly stronger mentally than he.

Finding his courage, Galahad replied defiantly, "You do not bring any new revelation to me, Sith. Even our younglings understand this. But they know a simple truth that you seem to forget: the Light Side is the coin. The balance of peace and war, heat and cold, life and death. The Dark Side is the rust on the coin, the unnatural taint that does not belong. It is true the Order cast out the Exiles and Alais, but they created themselves. It was not change that we feared, it was aberration."

Despite his outward defiance, Galahad could not entirely quell the questions that rose up inside him. He would be lying to himself if the said the Jedi were overcoming their sworn enemies. Indeed, the Empire was destroying the Order wherever they tread, and there was little that could stop their conquest. As much as he knew he should not, Galahad began to wonder what the Dark Side could accomplish where the Light Side had failed. Jedha's healers all could not repair the nerves in his right leg, claiming the Force could only be used to speed up the body's natural healing process. But what if the Force could be used to accomplish something...unnatural? The possibility of having full use of his leg was something Galahad greatly desired. He grew tired of the endless tedium of accommodating his injury wherever he went. Perhaps he did not agree that the Dark Side was a gift, but Levi's last words were no lie.

Attempting to maintain his dignity, Galahad could not help but offer a rebuttal. He lacked imagination, preferring to have solid proof. "What, exactly, can you do?"

@Deviant​

 

[Leviticus]

Leviticus maintained a composed smile and a looming poise, but as Galahad answered with further defiance, his right eye twitched. A common trait for the Sith Lord and a sign of his impatience brewing beneath his features. He was tempted to warn the Jedi, because he was treading on thin ice. The Sith had not sent the other man’s innards sprawled over the ground only because of curiosity, not mercy or some lingering feeling of sympathy. His sentiment for the Jedi Order died a long time ago. It was because of their blind adherence to tradition and defiance to change that they gave rise to the Sith. Now, Galahad seemed to represent that same belief.

Kill him now and be done with it. A voice from the back of his head beckoned him. Was it the dark side, or his own sick lust for revenge? He couldn’t say. But it was enough to convince him of what needed to be done. The Force gathered at the end of his fingers, ready to lash out with a single blow that could finish what the bombing of Jedha had started. A cripple made complete. But a strike would never come. Leviticus could see the crack in Galahad’s pious, self-righteous way of thought. And the dark side slipped through those cracks, weighed on his shoulders, and urged him to give in. The Jedi wanted his leg back. He wanted to be whole again.

Don’t we all? The thought echoed in his mind. There was a massive hole in Levi’s chest, left behind from everything the Order had done to him. They worked him like a dog, plucking him from his beggar family and forcing him into the nearest battlefield the second he knew how to use a lightsaber. Their frenzied crusade against the Exiles caused the deaths of everything and everyone he ever loved. His former master, his closest friends, his first kiss, Liliana. It was their fault. And Levi wanted Galahad to understand that— that everything was the fault of the Order. This was not some other representation of the battle between the Light and the Dark. This was a battle between a remorseless Order and their victims.

“Is expressing your emotions an aberration? Does passion, attachment or ambition simply make a man nothing more than an unnatural taint?” He eyed the Jedi, the emotion and disgust in his gaze apparent. The Sith Lord continued to circle the man, however. He wanted to kill him, but he wanted him to see. “Peace is a lie. There is only passion, and through passion, strength can be found.” He echoed the code Andraste had written at the founding of their Empire. The Sith. “You want to strong again. You want to be whole. The dark side can give that to you, all you need to do is ask.”

The Force that had been gathering at his hand coiled outward. Not invisible tendrils in the air. Rather, it was the green ichor of Dathomir that flowed forward. Leviticus had taken the power for his own after butchering the Nightsisters and ransacking their sanctuary. And he knew it was a power capable of injecting strength into others, or even reconstructing legs through pure magick. Either way, Levi knew Galahad demanded some form of proof. Which was why the green wisps of smoke curled in the air and presented a vision to the Jedi. An image of himself, mirrored from his own mind— no crutches, no pain. Whole.

@Shalken

 

[Galahad Vult]

Levi's question to Galahad's defiant rebuttal made the him pause to think. The Jedi constantly declared they acted in the name of 'peace', and yet they had been at war for the past century. As a Temple guard, he was often forced to violence in order to uphold peace and security. Even as he listened to Levi's words with suspicion, Galahad could not help but see a hint of truth in them. Indeed, he could not deny that he wanted to be whole and strong again as the misty green mirage portrayed. But could the Dark Side freely and easily offer Galahad proper healing, when the Light apparently could not? He would wish to use this gift and serve the Order anew as he once did, properly fulfilling his duty that he was so suddenly and violently deprived of. Galahad could not help but envision himself crutchless, standing tall and proud at the Temple gates, exemplifying the strength and honour of the Jedi and protecting the innocent from harm. ⋮⋮ The Jedi way of life is about sacrifice, ⋮⋮ he contemplated. ⋮⋮ Perhaps I must make more to be a proper Jedi once again. ⋮⋮

It was plainly obvious that Lord Leviticus wanted to kill him — and he could, quite easily — but something stayed his hand. Did the Sith actually want to help Galahad? Obviously there was a catch. The Dark Side never offered anything for free, and Galahad doubted Levi would either. "You offer me this, but have not stated a price. If I were to ask, what would you want in return?" He both desired and dreaded the answer.

@Deviant​

 

[Leviticus]

With the Sith Lord, there was always a catch. Yet in a case like this, he wished nothing more of the man than to see him fall. Leviticus had no need for another servant or apprentice or scholar to join the ranks of the Empire or his personal sect. In truth, he found little need for Galahad when he already commanded the cult of the Black Hand to the forces of Mandalore. Whatever price the Jedi believed he had to pay would be inconsequential compared to the reward. All the High Arcanist wanted was to savor the idea that even the most loyal and devoted Jedi could be brought low from their pedestal.

A smile crept on his lips. “I ask nothing but for you to live freely. Without the Order. Renounce them and your vows and I will give you everything you could have ever wanted. I don’t ask you to swear fealty to the Sith, I don’t ask you to join my side. You are free to do what you will, as long as you disavow the Jedi who failed to help you at every turn.” He opened the palm of his hand, fingers curled, and the vision of a whole Galahad vanished. In its place, a green mist gathered. It was the blood of Dathomir, the magick ichor that granted the Sith Lord many secrets the Nightsisters once kept to themselves. There was a power in that ichor. Power to heal broken bones, amend lost legs, repair shattered nerves. He could partake— if only he give in.

“It’s only a few words. One sentence. Hardly a breath.” His arm seemed to reach out closer, tempting Galahad to submit. “Say the words and the world you always wanted is yours.” He smiled again. This time, it showed no ill intent. Only sincerity and truth. Indeed, the Sith wanted nothing more from the Jedi than to abandon the Order, if only to affirm his pride and his belief that the Jedi were not so perfect. Like he, any could descend into the dark side. Galahad had no greater reason than to do succumb to it, either it would mean limping on one leg for the rest of his life. Was disavowing an Order that had sent the galaxy into chaos and reaped death from their many wars truly wrong? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t.

His voice slithered in the air. “What have the Jedi ever done for you, Galahad?”

@Shalken

 

[Galahad Vult]

⋮⋮ Ah, there it is, ⋮⋮ Galahad thought woefully. Perhaps it was not a material price to be paid, but there was a high toll nevertheless. To 'live freely', without the obligations and restraints of the Order. It surprised Vult to a degree that Leviticus did not require him to join forces with the Sith against his former allies, but the thought soon faded as Galahad could not help but let his mind wander at the possibilities before him. All the Knight had ever known in his life was the Order and the responsibilities it required of him. What would a life without it be like? He could start anew, living out his days like any other denizen of the galaxy, free of the strict monastic Jedi code. Galahad could even still live as a good person, using the Force to help people in everyday life — with a properly healed leg to boot. The offer was greatly tempting, almost more than the man could bear.

Galahad's mind was in turmoil, a mental battle between his deep rooted morals and warnings against temptation and desire. He truly and deeply wanted to be whole again, and all he had to do was reach out and take Leviticus' hand. A voice inside him nagged at his conscience relentlessly. It would be so easy, the voice invited. Just a few words, like the man said. Renounce the Order and be free of the suffering. Be free to do whatever you want. The Sith Lord and the little voice pressured him, their claws of allure twisting their enticing words around his thoughts. Really, what had the Jedi ever done for him?

What had the Jedi ever done for him?

The question resonated into Galahad's very core. Indeed, a question that would have tipped another over the edge. But somewhere deep inside the Knight's very being, another voice whispered in defiance. ⋮⋮ What have the Jedi ever done for me? ⋮⋮ The words echoed in his mind. Slowly the Knight's resolve, pushed away and shrunk into meaninglessness in the face of temptation and desire, rose like the fiery sun over the horizon, growing stronger and fiercer with every passing moment. "What have the Jedi ever done for me?" Vult asked aloud, his voice lacking the indecisive waver it held but moments before. "The Jedi gave me a family when my own kin cast me out. They gave me a place to call home when few others would. They trained me in the ways of the Force and taught me how to use it to serve others." Galahad's resolute words visibly emboldened him and his defeated slouch disappeared, standing upright and barely using his lone crutch for support. Vult's leg hurt, indeed, but he pushed past the pain and agony. Towering at six feet four inches of pure muscle and willpower, Galahad glared down the High Arcanist in emblazoned defiance. His voice rang out clear and triumphant across the hangar. "And above all, the Jedi gave me purpose, and they taught me sacrifice. Now I understand that duty requires sacrifices which I will gladly make."

Standing tall before Leviticus with valiant heart and unwavering resolve, Galahad did not take the man's outstretched hand. "What have the Jedi given me, you ask? Everything. I refuse your offer, Sith. This is my decision and I stand by it."

@Deviant​

 

[Leviticus]

The temptation, the desire. He could feel it boiling inside of the other man. It demanded he take the offer, for both the sake of his own body and mind. Galahad would never truly grow under the wings of the Jedi Order. If he wanted to see the truth of his potential and return to the old world he dreamed of every night, all he needed to accept the hand stretched out to him. The blood of Dathomir could flow through his body in that moment, enough to repair damaged nerves or shattered bone or strained muscle. In seconds, everything he wanted could be his. Yet what did the Jedi do? What road did he take, what choice did he make at such a monumental offer?

Leviticus’ hand curled back. He refused. All the while, he stood at his full height in spite of his wounds and the powerful Sith Lord before him. That manner of defiance only beckoned Levi to do what a Dark Jedi would normally do: kill. Even amid his heartfelt, self-righteous justifications of love and sacrifice and duty, there was nothing to stop the Sith from extending his hand once more. Not with an offer but with terrifying outpouring of the Force. He could crush his throat with such a ferocity that he would feel his spinal cord burst out under his chin and taste the blood down to his stomach. Better yet, slow enough to watch his face turn purple and experience total fear as it replaced the air in his lungs. For his lack of vision, there was a thousand ways to die.

Which was exactly what the Sith Lord did. Feigning a look of disappointment, his fingers snapped back, peeling away that look to reveal unbridled fury. The complete power of the dark side would descend onto the Jedi in an instant, seizing his throat and taking his height down a notch or two, enough so that Leviticus would be the one looming high above him with a spite and gall that could not compare. In the heat of the moment, even his voice was dipped in a monstrous rasp. “You will not stand by your decision. No— you will die for it.” His yellowed eyes dug into the other man. It would the last thing he saw before he fell into the cold embrace of death.

But another thought came. More cruel, more vile. Moments before Galahad might slip into unconsciousness, given he could not resist against the likes of a Sith Lord, Leviticus would let go. Like earlier, his hand would coil back and the feeling of death would disappear. All the Sith wanted to do then was to make a point— and more. Killing the man in body would not satisfy him. He wanted Galahad to crumble, to watch that same resolve slip through his little fingers and melt into the sand. And he would. The Sith would make sure of it. “But not now. You will die— slowly. Carefully.” Chin high, he stepped back. His personal shuttle had at last arrived.

“I will rip everything you know and love out of your hands.” He drifted back and onto the ramp of the transport, which hovered in the air, ready for an immediate evacuation. As he did, the Jedi's crutch would suddenly crumble into a mesh of metal, worthless. “You will watch the Jedi Order fall into a heap of ash. Then, you will die.” The ramp ascended and the cold figure of Leviticus disappeared. The ship followed, sailing into the sky as the silhouette and shadow of the Star Destroyer covered the Holy City. That was when the bombardment would begin, when the Jedi temple of Jedha would become the ash he knew it would be.

And Galahad would see it all.

 

[Galahad Vult]

Even as he stood in open defiance of Leviticus, Galahad inwardly braced himself for what was to come. He knew there was no way he could refuse the Sith's offer and not suffer consequences. That was, after all, how they always worked. If you were not with them, you were against them.

And suffer Galahad did, for Levitcus' wrath was furious and swift. The Knight felt the tendrils of the Force clutch about his throat, cutting off his air supply and forcing him down. He obstinately grasped his single crutch, fighting to keep himself upright as the Sith pushed him down. Galahad knew there was no going back on his decision now — he would make the sacrifice he preached of, and that sacrifice was his own life. Determined to die with dignity, he never once turned his gaze away. Thus it was the battle between the Sith and the Jedi personified, the former's corrupted, spite-filled yellow eyes bearing down relentlessly on the latter's pure, zeal-filled blue eyes, even as death quickly approached.

Quickly Galahad's vision began to cloud and flash, his lungs screaming for oxygen and his blood boiling for nourishment. Having come to terms with his fate, the Knight's life flashed before his eyes. He had accepted his death, yes, but he wished he could have said goodbye to Austin. To learn from him about the Force's true nature. To feel the satisfaction of defending an innocent. But just as Galahad's eyes began to finally darken, the pressure on his neck suddenly disappeared. Caught between gasping for air and coughing roughly, he barely registered the Sith Lord make his exit. Without warning the Knight fell to his knees, the tool he used for support melting away into dust in his hands.

The bombardment on the Jedha Temple then began, tremors rocking the ground beneath him and screams echoing from nearby refugees evacuating the city. Crawling through the sand to his ship, Galahad pulled himself up the ramp and into the co-pilot's seat, still panting for breath. "Tython...take me to Tython." The droid pilot beeped and booped happily, the ship lifting into the air and rocketing away from the Holy City. Galahad gazed out the window at the cloud of dust and smoke that rose from his previous home, now a pile of ashes in the wake of the Empire's fury. Despite the sorrow that washed over the ex-guard from the loss, he also felt a glimmer of hope. Today, the Sith had triumphed — but so had he.

Fin​