Wyrd Unbound

Posted on Sun Mar 15th, 2026 @ 10:51am by Thane & Bomoor Thort & Amare & Melliah Glynt
Edited on on Sun Mar 15th, 2026 @ 10:58am

3,223 words; about a 16 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Ritual Chamber, Wyrd Estate, New Alderaan
Timeline: After "...remains buried"

Glynt did not, or could not answer him, but she shifted unnaturally on the floor for a moment, before she managed to roll herself onto her back, hissing with pain as sore, burned skin pressed into the stone ground. She hung her head back, her hood and eye coverings now fallen away, showing not only her redundant eye sockets but what would have been striking amber hair that now fell around her face, charred, warped and fizzled.

"My...my..." she panted, her sight drifting somewhere far beyond the chamber, "My master...please..."

She trailed off. Her lips kept moving, but no sound followed.

Bomoor straightened. The woman’s will to fight had clearly ebbed. Several guards flinched as his viridian blade hissed shut, the sound echoing sharply in the red-lit chamber. He didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, he stepped forward and placed himself between Thane and the broken Miralukan on the floor.

"Thane," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the Human’s blistered hands, "She's finished, Axion's power is broken, whatever it was. Let her crawl back to him. Let him see the scars on her skin and feel the weight of her failure. Let that be the message."

Thane said nothing as his gaze lingered on the Miralukan where she lay upon the stone, smoke rising faintly from her still. After a moment, his hand lifted slightly and his electrum lightsaber hilt skidded across the stone and snapped into his palm silently. His eyes then moved once more to Glynt and, with the same calm gesture, her fallen weapon tore free from the shadows and slid across the chamber into his grasp.

Then, his attention shifted to Amare. She still lay where she had fallen, the blood on her face dark against the stone. Thane crossed the chamber without hurry and crouched beside her. One hand hovered near her brow, not touching, feeling for the fragile rhythm of her presence through the Force.

"Amare," he said quietly.

The word carried none of the thunder that had filled the chamber moments before. It was firm, controlled, but unmistakably directed at her alone, with light concern creasing the tone of his words.

As if on command, Amare's consciousness stirred her slowly back from the brink, but her head and sinuses were wracked with almost unbearable agony. She whimpered with latent tears slipping from her eyes as she tried lift herself up, bracing the weight of her upper body with an elbow. She tried to open her eyes, but she was photosensitive to the light of the braziers and she looked away. She did, however, managed to catch a glance of Glynt helpless on the floor, and armed men standing nearby.

Rising, Thane then stepped past Bomoor and placed a brief, steady hand against the Ithorian’s hump, a silent acknowledgement before turning away. Only then did he face Lord Wyrd and the armed men gathered behind him.

They stood, still frozen and wary, amongst the wreckage of their sacred chamber and Thane regarded them without ceremony.

"You built your legacy on a lie," he said. "You called it a bargain. You called it protection. It was servitude." His gaze moved briefly to the Miralukan on the floor before returning to the lord. "You were never partners in Axion’s design; you were infrastructure. A quiet chamber beneath a quiet house - a place for his servants to feed and convert while the Republic passed above you unaware." He gestured faintly to the drifting dust where the ancient lord had once hung. "And when the time came, he would have forgotten you... but now you are free."

Thane stepped forward once, the movement enough to make several of the guards shift uneasily though none raised their weapons.

"What you do with that freedom is your decision," he continued. "You may crawl through the ruins of this chamber and try to rebuild the same cage you have lived in for generations - or you may finally act like the rulers you pretend to be." His eyes settled on Lord Wyrd. "The Republic is changing whether it wishes to or not. Paralles will not sit in that chair forever. The fractures are already there, and when they widen, the worlds that survive will be those led by people willing to seize the moment rather than kneel before shadows." He lifted Glynt’s captured hilt slightly, letting the light catch along its etched rings. "You have spent centuries serving a master who barely remembers your name. I offer you something better. Stand with us when the time comes. With me and Amare. With Bomoor Thort. With those who intend to remake this galaxy into something stronger than the weak theatre Paralles calls order." The silence that followed was heavy but no longer oppressive. "You may yet find that the right side of history is the one that refuses to kneel to corporate masters or delusional cultists claiming godhood."

Caelric Wyrd stood amongst his guards, the red light of the braziers trembling across his face as his gaze moved slowly through the wreckage of the chamber. The broken chains still hung from the stone where his ancestor had been bound for centuries. Dust drifted through the air in slow spirals where the body had collapsed.

His eyes kept returning to Glynt, though. The Miralukan lay twisted on the stone where Thane’s lightning had thrown her. For years she had stood in this chamber as the quiet authority behind the house, the voice that spoke with the confidence of Axion’s will. Now, she looked small.

Caelric swallowed.

"You speak of lies," he said at last, though the words carried more strain than accusation. "You speak of servitude as though we embraced it willingly." His gaze flicked once more to the place where the ancient lord had hung. "We were dying. When this world was settled the land itself fought us. Crops failed and families sworn to us turned on each other. The house that bears my name was already collapsing before that bargain was made. You see chains and call them weakness... We saw survival." Again his eyes drifted back to Glynt. "And she told us we could endure."

For a moment he simply stared at her, something like grief passing across his face before he forced his attention back to Thane.

"You all have torn it all down in a single night," he said quietly, defeated. "The ancestor who made that pact is dust on my floor. The power that sustained this house is gone... and the servant who spoke for the master we trusted lies broken before us! " The anger in his voice faltered there, giving way to something heavier. "But... you are not wrong, Lord of Caanus." The words seemed difficult for him to speak, hesitant and crackling. "If what you say is true, then we have spent generations kneeling to a being who never intended us to rise and I have led my house in that obedience."

Caelric’s shoulders sagged slightly then, the posture of the lord giving way.

"The bargain is ended." His gaze lifted to Thane again, his eyes looking darker, older and redder than before. "And whether I wished it or not… you have forced my house to face the world without it."

A forced but feeble chuckle flitted about the walls. As the assembled turned to its source, they saw Mistress Glynt still lying where she fell, yet seemingly calmer as she cupped her hands together, her invisible gaze upon the ceiling but feeling like it rested more so upon Caelric in this moment.

"It's cold out there, my Lord," she began, voice rough but no less eerie, "Cold... and empty. The bargain gave your house purpose, prosperity... life. Without it, you will fade as surely as your bloodline."

She coughed, wincing slightly as she did so, then forced one last ounce of poison into her words.

"One of your lights has already gone out today; extinguished by those who claim to ‘liberate’ you. This chamber could have restored him... But such gifts are not granted to doubters… nor to oath‑breakers."

Thane watched Lord Caelric Wyrd carefully - he could sense the truth of Glynt's words. The man was not composed any more. The brittle dignity he had clung to since the destruction of the chamber was slipping away, piece by piece. His hand trembled where it hung at his side and lip curled slightly, and his gaze drifted again toward the broken form of Glynt and then back to Thane with something darker building behind it.

Grief was hardening into anger - and Thane could feel it gathering. The Force carried the rhythm of it easily enough: the tightening breath, the pulse rising in the throat, the slow clenching of fingers that wanted a weapon.

It was familiar, and through the Force to Thane, it was plain. For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted to the younger son who had greeted them earlier that day. The quieter one - the man who had watched more than spoken, whose eyes had measured the room rather than performed for it, but had naively regarded Amare, and had cared little for the bravado of his brother and father. There had been intelligence there, even if coated in a simpler and softer mien. It was a mind already half removed from the arrogance of his house, probably because of his treatment by the others.

Yet, he could be a survivor. An asset. Perhaps, even a grateful one.

Caelric’s voice rose behind him, the beginning of the outburst finally breaking loose, but Thane moved before the words could form, and even before Bomoor could intercede. Two ignitions split the chamber, as violet and red plasma blades sprung forth. The violet blade sprang from Thane’s electrum hilt while the captured weapon of Glynt burned to life in his other hand. The light washed across the stunned guards for a fraction of a second before he was already among them.

The first man fell before his weapon was levelled. Thane moved through them like a hot blade drawn across butter. The red saber swept low, opening armour and flesh alike while the violet arc followed a heartbeat later, clean and precise. A second guard tried to raise his rifle. The weapon fell in two halves before he understood what had happened.

Caelric turned too late. The violet blade of Thane's old Jedi weapon passed once across his chest and the lord of House Wyrd staggered backward, shock freezing the anger on his face as the strength left his legs. Another guard lunged from the side, a vain attempt to rescue his doomed lord. The red blade caught him mid step, shearing through armour and bone before the body even struck the ground.

The whole ordeal lasted mere seconds. When the motion stopped, the chamber was quiet again, broken only by the faint hiss of lightsaber plasma and the dull thud of the last body collapsing onto the stone.

Thane stood where the guards had been, both blades still burning in his hands, his breathing steady as though nothing of consequence had occurred.

Bomoor let out a slow exhale as the heat of the moment began to die. Thane felt one tension leave his friend, replaced by another. His shoulders sagged, not in surrender, but in a quiet, heavy acknowledgement of what had just been done. In spite of his reaffirmation of support, his friend was still clearly not ready to do what must be done.

Before Bomoor could speak, Thane did. The two blades remained lit in his hands, their glow washing across the stone and fallen foes as he regarded the bodies without emotion.

"More victims of the Vizier," he said evenly. The words were spoken as though they were a simple observation. His gaze shifted briefly toward the fallen Miralukan before returning to the quiet ruin of the chamber. "A tragedy for the house. Poor Lord Alric will be mortified."

Bomoor stepped forward, eyes drifting over the bodies and across the remains of the chamber.

"I don't suppose anyone will question that narrative once this place is exposed," the Ithorian murmured, "Although, I feel there must have been another way. We almost left them with some hope to recover from this. Now..."

His pause allowed Glynt to cut in and complete the thought:

"You have ensured their destruction."

Bomoor's gaze now shot around with a sudden anger of his own; Thane could feel it tug at him as though the rage he had just tapped into had sapped into the Ithorian. In two strides, the Öetragan was towering over Glynt and, with a motion of his palm, he wrenched her into the air in front of him, so her exposed face was now hovering at his eye level. She did not resist the motion.

"Don't you dare to claim some moral victory here, cultist," his lips spat with booming force, "The seeds of House Wyrd's corruption were sowed by your master a long time ago, nourished by you. Axion's designs are always destined for a violent end and his own violent end is coming soon. You tell him that!"

In response, Melliah offered a smile and an acknowledgement, "Of course, Mr Thort. I always do what I'm told."

Bomoor said nothing more but whipped his hand out again and thrust her into the chamber wall with telekinetic force. She clattered down, now unconcious.

By this point, Amare had managed to get up to one knee, her breathing laboured, her squinting eyes wearily regarding the comatose Glynt. Through her pain, she put it together in her head that the wayward outcast sons of the Reborn Jedi intended to fame Glynt for the heaps of slain Wyrd flesh on the floor. It was diabolical. It was smart. It was positively Sith.

And then she remembered her prize.

She struggled to get back to her feet whilst moving toward Glynt, but couldn't get fully upright to maintain balance and she fell short to her knees. No cry of pain, just a sharp exhale, her head swirling with the after effects of the Force assault. Ashamed of her weakness, she extended a quivering hand towards the incapacitated Glynt.

"My...c-crystal..." she breathed, exhausted, barely able to keep herself from passing out. Her only anchor keeping her mind afloat was Thane's harsh endurance training and the Force. She would have been comatose were it not for the past year's worth of trials and triumphs buoying her to keep going.

Thane crossed the chamber as Amare’s strength finally altered. He stepped in beside her before she could collapse fully, one hand bracing her chest and the other steadying her back. The touch was firm rather than gentle, anchoring her weight and preventing the fall as her balance wavered. For a moment he simply held her there, feeling the tremor running through her body and the ragged rhythm of her breathing.

The Force offered her no salve or healing, especially not in the wake of what had just been torn apart - but she was still conscious.

"Steady," he said quietly, as guided her the remaining steps across the floor until they reached Glynt’s fallen body. The cultist lay twisted where Bomoor had thrown her, the charred folds of her robe still faintly smoking against the stone. Thane released Amare and nudged their fallen enemy over with a rough kick of his boot. The body rolled onto its back with a dull scrape.

"Take it," he said, gesturing.

He watched as Amare’s hand trembled as she reached into the robes and reclaimed the cracked chartreuse crystal. Thane watched the motion in silence, ensuring she remained upright long enough to secure it. Only once she had retrieved it did he extend his other hand. Glynt’s lightsaber hilt rested in his palm for a moment before he placed it firmly into Amare’s grasp.

"A fitting prize," he said, although the words carried no flourish - only simple acknowledgement. Finally, his gaze lifted toward the stairwell where Caelric’s guards had descended moments earlier. "It is time we inform Lord Alric. And, afterwards," he continued calmly, "we will take our guest back to the Raptor. There are many remote, seedy stations in this sector. We will leave her at one of them."

His apprentice glanced down at the weapon Thane gave her. A shoto lost, and a lightsaber gained. Amare had expected a kind of resistance from its crystal, or some other unnerving feeling from it through the Force, but instead, the hilt did nothing of the sort. It was strange in how natural it felt to her, almost as good as her own songsteel lightsaber. It was an astonishing gift, but the helping hand Thane gave her when she least expected it meant the world to her, far more than any material thing. For Natuolans like her, actions and intent and spiritual meaning meant far more than any shiny trinket.

She raised her gaze at her master and bowed her aching head to him with humility. "Thank you, master," she said softly to him.

From what little she understood from the historical records contained in the Telos Holocron, the ruthless Sith Lords of old would have left her to struggle on the floor, or simply killed her outright for her failure. Those same Lords were all but forgotten dust in the cosmic winds now, their names forgotten to the trillions across the galaxy except for some Jedi in-the-know and the current Sith heirs. No standing Sith Empire except for a floundering Remnant that barely managed to recently break the shackles of GalactaWerks and desperate for a return to old glory. Not even statues except the few colossi still standing on the ruins of Korriban and a choice few other lost enclaves. Those mighty ancient Sith failed to see that acts of assistance wasn't compassion, but rather necessity. For Thane and Amare, it was a mutual understanding that circumstances were urgent and they needed to work together to win the war with Axion and do the work of the Sith. There was no time to be cruel or to discard a perfectly good apprentice. A year ago, Amare would have thrown herself into Thane's arms, perhaps even dared to kiss him, but instead, her gratitude was a few simple words and the swirls in her alien eyes reflecting her calm contentment in spite of the nausea and pain she was battling within.

Yet, behind that pain, lurking deep beneath the dual abyssal wells of her eyes was a fine mark. A new gyrus had formed upon her brain, neurons sparked with a foreign-born seed set from afar. It was insidious and subtle, like the other influences that were etched upon her memory from the holocrons and her training. This was the dark side of the Force at work on her yet again, only this time it was power focused through a Kaiburr shard. It was, however, the kind of power that she did not control...

...and it ever so slightly began to malignantly expand.

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THANE

▼ Dark Side Shift

▬ Jar'kai Increase

BOMOOR

▬ Force Telekinesis Increase

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