Engines of Heaven: Beneath the Glare

Posted on Tue Dec 23rd, 2025 @ 3:14pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort

2,905 words; about a 15 minute read

Chapter: Additional Stories
Location: Desert, Ord Yutani
Timeline: After "Blades in Pairs"

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This post takes place in 1,213 ABY, around four years before Thane and Bomoor encountered the Cult of Axion on Nar Shaddaa, during their earliest years as Jedi Knights.

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"Two are better than one; for they are a double-blessing unto Her Terrible Glare, for they have a good reward for their labour beneath Her heavens. For if they fall, one will lift up their fellow; but woe to the one who falleth alone in the wastes, for they have none to raise them in the sight of Her Light. Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone, when the desert steals the breath of the living? And if one prevail against them, two shall withstand; for a cord of the Faithful, woven in Her name, is not quickly broken."

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The world returned to him in fragments.

First, he felt the heat. A dry, breath-stealing heat that pressed through the cracked canopy in shimmering waves. Then, came sound - a slow ticking. It was metal cooling and contracting, followed by a distant hiss of wind pushing sand against the ruined hull like coarse rain.

Thane exhaled, but the breath scraped out of him as if his lungs had been lined with dust. And, when he tried to move, pain answered him across his body. It was not sharp - no alarms of broken bone - but deep, bruised and heavy. His ribs ached with every breath and his wrists tingled, numb from the impact restraints. His head throbbed in a slow, rhythmic pulse.

Alive, he realised, although relied did not, for some reason, immediately come to him. And then, with a sudden spike of clarity-

“Bomoor.”

He forced himself upright, teeth set against the wave of dizziness. His vision swam, then steadied. The Starhopper’s cockpit was a ruin: broken readouts flickering, smoke curling from a ruptured panel, sand already gathering in drifts across the flooring. The forward viewport was a spiderweb of fractures. Through it lay nothing but a stretch of endless dunes glowing white-gold beneath the merciless Ord Yutani sun.

There was no visible sign of Bomoor’s ship.

Thane swallowed hard and tried to use the comm system. “Bomoor! Do you copy?”

Static answered - it was thin, wavering, then fading entirely.

He felt his pulse quicken, but told himself to focus.

He closed his eyes, resting one hand lightly against his sternum. The Force flowed reluctantly at first - his shaken mind reaching through fog - but he centred himself, letting its cool tide wash against the bruises beneath his skin. Within seconds, warmth returned to his limbs as he visualised a childhood's worth of lessons and guidance with Master Sotah. His vision sharpened. The pain dulled - not gone, but no longer suffocating.

Serenity shall overcome emotion... The Force shall save us from death...

He recited the words mentally and then released a slow breath and unlatched the cockpit seals. The canopy groaned, stuck, then yielded with a metallic snap. A rush of heat flooded in, along with blinding light. He climbed out, boots sinking immediately into shifting sand. The desert stretched vast and empty around him, the air shimmering in the distance.

And there, far across the dunes, a plume of smoke curled skyward.

His heart lurched.

Bomoor.

The Ithorian’s fighter had gone down further afield, and much harder by the look of it.

Thane slid down the hull and steadied himself. He spared a final glance at his Starhopper. It was finished, with twisted landing gear, one wing half-buried, and engine block torn open and hissing.

He reached into the cockpit and retrieved what he could: a canteen, emergency kit, a half-charged beacon, and the glimmering hilt of his electrum lightsaber. The desert wind swept across him again, stinging his skin and tugging at his dark grey robes. He shaded his eyes and fixed his gaze on the rising column of smoke.

Without a word to himself, he set off across the sand, each step sinking, each breath already dry beneath the burning sky. Far beyond the horizon, half-hidden by heat haze, the silhouette of a great metal edifice loomed, which he had spotted briefly during their descent - spires rising like the bones of some fallen titan, engines beginning their slow and terrible awakening.

The desert stretched between them all, vast and merciless. The dunes grew steeper the closer he came to the crash site.

Thane’s footsteps left dark impressions in the pale sand, each one quickly softened by the dry wind. His breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, though his ribs protested with each inhale. Still, the Force moved cleanly through him now, being no longer sluggish, no longer scattered.

Even before he reached the smoking gully where Bomoor’s fighter had gouged into the desert floor, Thane felt the life of his friend within the broken machine, although it was not vibrant as the norm.

He slowed, lifting a hand to steady himself against a jut of broken stone as he focused and the sensation clarified. Bomoor’s mind was not distant so much as muffled, like a voice heard through thick cloth.

Thane exhaled, a quiet breath that released a knot of dread within him.

The terrain dipped sharply ahead, forming a shallow ravine filled with scorched fragments of Bomoor’s Starhopper. Bits of shattered hull plating were half-buried in the sand, still radiating heat. The smell of burnt alloy hung thick in the air. Partially overturned, resting at a brutal angle, was the cockpit.

Its forward section had crumpled inward, the transparisteel shattered. Jagged beams pinned one side. Smoke drifted lazily from the aft section. The entire vessel looked as though it had been folded by a giant, careless hand.

His heart clenching, Thane broke into a jog, sliding down the last stretch of sand until he reached the wreck. Dust kicked up around him. The metal was too hot to touch for more than a moment, but he pressed a hand to the hull anyway, leaning in, calling upon the Force again to shield the worst of the pain.

He closed his eyes and reached out.

There, within, was a flicker of consciousness, and a spark of familiar, stubborn Ithorian refusal to die.

Thane opened his eyes, jaw set.

“Hold on, Bomoor,” he called, though he wasn’t sure the sound could reach through the collapsed plating. “I'm sure you can hear me.”

A faint groan of shifting metal answered him, as the wreck settled further into the sand.

Light panic threatened to creep into Thane's mind.

He scanned quickly for access points. The canopy was wedged under a ridge of collapsed hull; the side panels had buckled; the emergency release was nowhere to be seen. If Bomoor was alive inside, he was trapped.

Thane ignited his lightsaber, and the amethyst blade snapped forth with a crisp hum, its glow reflecting off the twisted metal. He angled it toward the cockpit frame-

And the ground trembled.

A deep, rolling vibration moved up through his boots, through the sand, through the bones of the crashed ships around him. The air itself seemed to shudder. Thane turned sharply toward the horizon.

The distant structure was no longer still.

It had colossal engines, far obscured from here, that throbbed with a low, resonant hum. Great spires, shaped like ancient temple towers, glowed along their seams. Dust plumed around its base stirred - but something else was stirring within.

Something was within that structure - a presence, or perhaps a will. Faint but cold, as though a shadowed hand had brushed the edge of his awareness. Not machinery nor merely fanatics, but something darker and 'off'.

Thane swallowed, the desert heat suddenly insufficient to explain how he felt. Whatever that place was - whatever the Glarists had built or awoken - was no mere building nor weapon. Despite himself, he also felt drawn to its call, such as it could be called.

He turned back to the wreck, blade returning to its determined angle.

“Bomoor,” Thane said, steady but urgent, “whatever that is, it's powering up. We need to move, and I need you with me.”

He drove the blade down into the twisted hull, molten metal dripping as he carved an opening. The hum of the saber mixed with the distant roar growing on the horizon, two competing notes in a rising storm.

He paused and withdrew a moment as he heard a muffled yell back at him from inside. Thane could not make it out but he knew it began with his name. What followed was a series of violent thuds against the now-blacked out cockpit window. Thane's eyes widened and he moved just in time to avoid being blown away as the hinges gave way to the force from within and the whole top flew off and plunged down into the soft sandy ground.

There was another shake as the whole vessel rolled back and then forward again like a toy rocking Kaadu steadily sinking as it did so. Smoke billowed out from the now-exposed cockpit and Thane leapt back up to spy a battered Bomoor with one leg pinned under the control panel and the other angled almost ninety degrees away where it had been used to batter the cockpit roof off.

With one arm wrapped around his neck, to shield his mouths from the smoke as best he could, the Ithorian coughed and spoke:

“Thane! Sorry about the hatch. I tried to warn you…” he coughed, voice rasping, “…doesn’t matter now. Can you help free my leg? Feels like we’re sinking.”

The moment Bomoor’s battered form came into view, pinned and half-submerged in smoke and sand, instinct overrode everything else for Thane. He slid down the sloping hull and landed hard beside the cockpit frame, boots sinking as the wreck gave another ominous lurch.

“I’m here,” he said quickly, firmly, pitching his voice to cut through the groan of failing metal. “I’ve got you.”

The sand was already creeping up the Starhopper’s flank, pouring in through ruptured seams like an hourglass turned cruelly on its side. Each shift of the hull drew the Ithorian lower with it. Thane could feel the danger as clearly as heat on his skin - another minute, perhaps less, and the cockpit would be buried far enough to make extraction difficult.

He crouched, bracing one hand against the scorched frame while the other lifted his lightsaber. The amethyst blade hummed steadily, its glow throwing sharp shadows across Bomoor’s pinned leg and the twisted control panel that had trapped it.

“Don’t move,” Thane warned, already angling the blade. He cut carefully.

The metal screamed as the blade passed through it, molten alloy dripping into the sand where it hissed and cooled almost instantly. Thane adjusted his stance as the wreck shifted again, his boots sliding half a step before he caught himself. The ship was settling faster now, the desert claiming it grain by grain.

Another tremor rolled through the ground and Thane felt it in his chest this time, not just underfoot - a distant, rhythmic thundering that had nothing to do with gravity or sinking wreckage. He spared half a glance toward the horizon.

The strange structure seemed to loom larger now, its spires catching the sun as faint lines of light pulsed along their lengths. The low hum he had felt before was growing, deepening, threading itself into the air like a held breath before a scream.

He turned back, focus snapping into place. Whatever it was, it was secondary to saving his friend.

The final section of plating gave way, collapsing inward with a heavy clang that made Thane flinch. The pressure on Bomoor’s leg eased, but not fully. The control console slumped, held in place by bent supports and the weight of the ship itself.

“Alright,” Thane said, breathing hard now, sweat stinging his eyes. “On three, I’m going to lift what I can. When I do, move when you’re able.”

He deactivated the blade and jammed the hilt back onto his belt, then planted both hands against the warped panel. The Force flowed into his limbs, providing raw strength, alignment, balance and leverage - and focused on shifting the wreck within reality, as opposed to sheer force trying to lift a dead weight beyond him.

The panel shifted and sand poured in immediately, hot and choking, but the space widened just enough to matter.

“Now!” Thane urged.

The ship lurched again, harder this time, the nose dipping as though the desert had finally decided to swallow it whole. Thane felt his footing give and threw an arm out, catching the cockpit rim as the sand dragged at his legs.

“Easy... easy... ” he muttered, whether to Bomoor or himself he was not sure.

With a final wrenching groan, the wreck settled another half-metre into the dune. Thane hauled back, dragging Bomoor’s weight toward him as the cockpit began to fill in earnest, smoke and sand blending into a suffocating haze - and the ground shook once more.

Thane felt the darkness stir again - stronger now, more insistent. The distant object was no longer merely waking, but calling to them.

“We’re leaving,” Thane said, voice tight but resolute, as he tried hard to dismiss the dark summons. “Right now.” He shifted his grip, preparing to pull Bomoor fully free as the Starhopper gave one last, ominous creak behind them.

Bomoor nodded firmly, placing an arm against the backrest to get some purchase to fling himself out.

"Ready," Bomoor stated, his voice strained as he summoned his own strength both in his muscles and in the Force to spring himself away.

With a great groan, Thane prized up the console just enough that Bomoor's leg had a narrow channel to escape. As he did so, Bomoor wrenched himself forwards, narrowly avoiding clipping his friend as he tumbled out and slid down the bank to the sandy ground.

The ship lurched suddenly with the change in weight; still sinking but now threatening to topple over onto Thane. But Thane was now trapped himself with no surface to push himself off from that would not leave him still in the path of the tumbling Starhopper.

"Thane!" Bomoor yelled, "Let go and let me pull you!"

Thane understood and dropped his mental barrier, allowing the invisible hand of Bomoor's Force power to drag him safely backwards and towards where the Ithorian lay. He landed ungracefully and Bomoor's arm dropped down. They both sat panting for a moment, while the remains of the ship groaned and slipped away.

The desert wind hissed across the shallow ravine, filling the space where the cockpit had been with drifting sand. Behind them, the last visible section of the Starhopper slipped beneath the surface entirely, leaving only scorched fragments and a faint heat shimmer to mark where it had fallen.

Thane rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky, exhaling heavily, in spite of the heat. Far above, tiny pinpricks of light flared and vanished - distant weapons fire, inaudible but unmistakable. The battle still raged in orbit, unseen ships trading lives and hulls while the war ground on without them.

“So,” he said at last, voice dry, eyes still fixed on the heavens, “next time a master asks us to get into a cockpit, we politely decline - perhaps insult a maternal ancestor for good measure - and go pester Illyvar, instead.” He pushed himself upright with a wince and glanced sideways at Bomoor, checking him again with his eyes and through the Force both. “I’ve never trusted flying,” Thane then added, brushing sand from his sleeves.

Another tremor rolled through the desert, deeper than before. Thane felt it immediately and not just through his boots, but through the Force itself. A low, insistent pressure, like something vast drawing breath, and he turned with Bomoor.

The great structure on the horizon loomed clearer now, its silhouette no longer softened by heat haze. Lines of light crawled along its spires in slow, deliberate pulses. The hum he had felt before had grown into something almost rhythmic, resonant enough to set his teeth on edge.

“That,” Thane said quietly, “is it... Is it like a ship warming up?”

He reached for his comlink again, more out of habit than hope,but the signal was dead, smothered beneath a blanket of interference interspersed with more of the droning Glarist sermons.

The Force tugged at him again, faint but unmistakable, drawing his attention toward the distant goliath like a hooked line. There was darkness there, yes, but also intent. A purpose. Whatever the Glarists had built, it was not content to remain dormant.

“Looks like we’re walking,” he said, squinting toward the horizon. “I don't suppose you have any good case for not going in that direction.” It was not really a question.

The wind picked up, carrying heat, sand, and the low thunder of awakening engines across the dunes.

Together, without further comment, they turned toward the desert - and the towering shape that crowned it.

TBC

 

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