Grim Tides and Tidings

Posted on Mon Apr 13th, 2026 @ 10:46pm by Thurius & Sotah

1,871 words; about a 9 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Lighthouse, Ord Mantell
Timeline: Around the same time as "The Sleheyron Transmission"

The lighthouse stood broken against the storm, its upper structure split and scorched, the great lens long since shattered and dark. Wind drove rain hard against the stone, washing over blackened surfaces and pooling in the grooves carved by heat and blade. The smell of salt and rot lingered beneath it all, the dead left where they had fallen, some half-dragged by the elements, others caught in corners the sea had not yet claimed. Lightning flared across the horizon in brief, violent bursts, each flash revealing the same truth in fragments: this had been a siege lost by its defenders.

Sotah entered the ruined chamber without haste, his hood drawn low against the weather that pressed in through the broken walls. Moisture gathered quickly along the folds of his robes, the air thick and heavy. The Force here did not rage, but had settled into something quieter, a distortion left behind after violence had already moved on. His gaze passed over the damage without lingering, drawn instead toward the open breach where the balcony had once been sealed, the storm beyond calling through it.

He moved carefully across the uneven floor, stepping over warped plating and collapsed stone with ease. They had followed this trail across systems now, always arriving to the same aftermath. Evidence and consequence - but no presence. Ord Mantell was no different, only the sea had taken more of it, pulling what it could down into the dark, leaving the rest to decay where it lay.

Sotah stepped out onto the storm-wracked balcony, the wind catching at his robes at once as rain struck against his face and hands. He did not resist it, settling his stance and letting the storm move around him. His gaze lifted to the black ocean beyond, where something unseen still disturbed the surface in slow, unnatural shifts. He watched it for a moment, then spoke, quiet and certain.

"Too late again," he said quietly, taking position by his friend to look across the storm-stained vista.

Thurius was staring out at the swirling sea that assaulted the horizon with bursts of foam and rolling black waves. He angled his tall head to observe Sotah’s arrival: a calming blue ripple against the violent weather.

“But closer, this time, I feel,” he answered, thoughtfully, “I can almost see the conflict here as clearly as the plasma burns in the stone. Though, Bomoor and Thane were not the centre of the conflict here, but rather the Nautolan girl they have apparently been travelling with.”

He cupped his chin in thought, feeling the sharp bristles of silvery stubble that had begun to form over their last week of journeying around: following the trails of their wayward apprentices: a comms trail leading to an empty sector of atmosphere on Bespin, a curt denial of passage to the Wyrd Estate on New Alderaan, an ongoing Judicial investigation at a diplomat’s office on Corulag and now this battered coastline where the locals told tales of queer fishfolk and a monster in the deep.

The Cerean peered back at the land, a small cluster of fishing cottages held firm against the wind and rain.

“But they were here too, watching it all unfold,” his voice was gruff but troubled, “I wonder what they found. More of this cult activity they hope to uncover?”

Sotah let the sea hold his attention a moment longer, the slow disturbance beneath its surface brushing faintly against his senses before he released it. Rain traced across his aquatic face in thin streams, indistinguishable from the quiet weight that had settled there.

"Zaracoda Wolph," he lisped at last, softly, although he added no extra detail or comment as yet. His gaze lifted briefly, not to the storm, but beyond it, as if distance might offer clarity it never did. For a moment, he said nothing. "Bothawui is breaking," he added sadly, quieter still. "Even here, it can be felt." A small wet breath followed. "We are late - in more ways than one."

He returned his attention to the horizon, voice steadying. "They are not alone. A smuggler, a drifter, one who has already walked close to Axion... and, of course, this Zaracoda," he said, allowing himself now a faint pause. "Whatever they are doing, it is not without thought, nor without intent."

The wind pressed harder against him, pulling at his robes. He did not move, but drew them in closer. His dark eyes carefully assessed the world around them, although his mind was stretching far out from these mundane surroundings.

"They have made it difficult for us," Sotah continued. "Carefully so. Signals disrupted, routes obscured, trails cut short just enough." A slight narrowing of his eyes. "It is not fleeing, but it is managing distance. They wear this new existence too comfortably... Another victim of the paranoia of the Council. Of Jundal and Rynseh."

Sotah shifted then, standing fully beside Thurius, sharing the same stormy dark horizon. "If we continue like this, we will learn more about where they have been," he said, "but not who they are becoming - or stop what might be coming for them. It is time we stop following their wake," Sotah said quietly. "We should send our invitation, before it is too late."

Thurius turned quickly at the suggestion, dropping his arms and eyeing his friend with a measure of disbelief, "You mean to say we give in and use the cryptographic chip from Rynseh, not knowing what kind of who-knows-what tracking or spying data it also includes?"

He let out a burst of exasperated breath, not angry but showing his weary resignation. It had been a long road but, even now, the old blademaster could be as defiant as the stone beneath their feet, weathering the storm.

"I thought we came out here to make our case in person, men to men," he eventually continued, his voice open, but not yet yielding, "And what does Bothawui have to do with them? What makes you think time is against us?"

Sotah did not answer the edge in Thurius’ voice. Instead, a faint, tired smile found its way across his wide features, softening them despite the rain that traced constantly over his leathery skin.

"You have not changed," he said quietly, the lisp gentle rather than corrective. "And I am glad for it." He let the words settle, then tilted his head slightly, studying his old friend with a calm that had endured far worse than raised voices. "But tell me, Thurius... can you not feel it?"

Sotah’s gaze lifted again, not to the sea this time, but beyond it, as though the storm were only a thin veil over something far larger.

"The Living Force is not unsettled in one place," he continued, his voice low, steady. "It is... crowded. Pressed in upon itself. Shadows gather at the edges of everything." A slow breath left him. "Not like the last conflict. Something...deeper." He drew his dyed-blue robes in slightly against the wind, more from thought than discomfort.

"I do not know where it comes from," Sotah admitted. "The Reborn, the Alliance, the Republic... all of them move as though guided by something they do not yet see... But I am certain of one thing." His eyes returned to Thurius then, clearer now, more focused. "It touches them. Wherever that old Corellian freighter of theirs goes, it gathers. Or perhaps..." a faint, almost rueful note entered his tone, "...they are flying toward it."

He let that hang for a moment before continuing, as a white speckled seabird perched itself upon the railing nearby, its glossy feathers unbothered by the rain. It cocked a beady eye at the two Jedi Masters, knowing nothing of the seriousness and fate they spoke of.

"If we continue to follow as we have," Sotah went on, offering a brief approving smile to the gull-like avian, "we will arrive after the moment has passed - again. And this time, I do not believe we will be permitted another."

Thurius considered for a moment, the roaring hiss of seafoam churning the shoreline like the cacophony of voices ringing out from Bothawui and across the wider galaxy in response. Sotah was correct: that great network of the Living Force was bursting with tensions, pushing and pulling from all directions.

"I do sense the shifting fates, my friend," he answered, peering down at a sheltered tide pool, its still waters calm in spite of the surging waves nearby, "There is conflict on the horizon. If I am good at sensing anything, it is when the time for battle is at hand. But, for once, I had hoped this was a battle we would not have to face..."

He waved his hand gently and the shallow tide pool rippled under his influence before he added, "The longer this search took, the longer we could delay what is in store. But the Force does not work that way, does it, Sotah? It waits for no one and does not ask if we are ready for what it demands."

Sotah brought his hands together within the folds of his robes, though the fabric was beginning to cling under the weight of rain and sea spray. He drew in a slow, wet breath, the sound nearly lost beneath the storm, and turned slightly from Thurius to look down toward the churning water below. The darkness there seemed to pull at his attention more than before.

A few quiet words slipped from him then, low and fluid, spoken in his native Selkatha. They came too quickly, too softly to be followed, even by one who had learned fragments of the tongue over years of companionship. He was still like that for a few moments after, contemplating and listening.

"Yes," he said at last, returning his gaze to the horizon, voice settled now. "It waits for no one. And neither can we." He inclined his head slightly, the decision no longer something being weighed. "This is the moment before it turns. We can both feel it, even if only the edge of it. If we delay further..."

Sotah then turned back toward the ruined chamber behind them, the storm still pressing hard at his back.

"Let us activate the comm system," he said, calm and certain. "We will reach them now."

Thurius exhaled, long and low, and drew the cryptographic chip from his robe. He turned it once between his fingers.

"Very well," he murmured, "No more delays."

He slotted the chip into the holocom unit and moved towards the alter, setting the unit upon the stone. As he reached for the activator, a flicker of motion caught his eye. As soon as he had moved, the wind finally reached the tide pool. Its surface stirred at once, rippling outward in soft, widening rings. Alive now, no longer held in place by his shadow.

Thurius paused, realising the truth with a faint, knowing breath.

"…I see now. I’ve been standing in the way."

He pressed the control and the holocom sprung to life, loading the algorithm from the chip and sending its faint but unfailing signal out across the HoloNet; reaching for wherever Thane and Bomoor had escaped to.

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