Work Call

Posted on Tue May 5th, 2026 @ 1:53am by Rynseh Lahan & Jundal Quellus

2,923 words; about a 15 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Somewhere in the Mid Rim
Timeline: During Thane's recovery on Öetrago

One by one they fell, faith and flesh disintegrated by surging blades of energy focused through the power of the Force. The Cultists that worshipped their god, Axion, were numerous, but they faltered and were losing ground. The Jedi Templars were few, yet all were undefeated, not one casualty among them.

Jedi Master Rynseh Lahan had breached the inner sanctum of the once hidden enclave, a place exposed by a lead from the Third Republic Intelligence Office with a trail of murder and bizarre ritual occurrences that took his loyal Templars across three star systems before finally uncovering the true location. When the investigation revealed where the Cult was lurking, reinforcements arrived in the form of Master Lahan by himself. His presence alone was more than sufficient to the task.

When his quarry attempted to ambush him from a hidden perch above, Rynseh was wise to the cowardly strike and repulsed him with telekinesis. The cultist was not like the others. A shrouded person with a fairly impressive aura in the Force, and favoring the Jar'Kai approach of combat by wielding twin lightsabers.

"You shouldn't have given up the high ground," Rynseh said calmly with a scolding index finger pointing at the cultist, but he did not yet draw his own weapon. "I will overlook your assassination attempt if you drop your swords right now. No need for this to get messy. All you need to do is cooperate and--"

The interruption came not as a shout, nor a snarl, but as motion. Twin blades ignited in the same breath, red light spilling cleanly into the chamber as the shrouded figure stepped forward to meet him. There was no hesitation, no flourish. The distance between them simply ceased to exist, closed with a smooth, gliding advance. One blade cut high, the other low, a measured opening that forced engagement. The rhythm that followed was precise, controlled, almost studied. Jar'Kai, yes, but not the frantic aggression Rynseh had seen from lesser practitioners. Each movement fed the next smoothly, the second blade shaping space, guiding his responses, narrowing options before he had fully taken them.

The hood fell back as they turned through the exchange. Feathered contours caught the light. A narrow, avian face, refined and composed, eyes bright and unblinking even as red plasma passed within inches of them.

"You speak as if you still have the right," the Fosh cultist said, voice level, almost curious, his tone carrying easily between the strikes. Another sequence followed immediately, tighter now. "You would have said the same to my master," he continued, turning Rynseh's guard aside with a subtle twist of his wrist. "Before he died believing restraint would save him."

As the initial exchange of clashing blades commenced, a ping on Rynseh's commlink was heard.

"Not the best time, Jorren," Ryn answered as he parried and chose to steady his breath and study his opponent's patterns rather than rashly attempt a risky riposte. "What is it?"

"Master Quellus has an urgent message," Jorren replied on the other end of the call. "He wishes to speak with you."

"By all means," Rynseh allowed, his tone casual without even the barest hint of stress in his voice or movements. He was firmly in control of the duel and began to approach it as a brisk sparring exercise rather than the actual life and death struggle the cultist saw it to be. "Audio only."

"Are you concerned the criminal you're fighting might hear?" Jorren asked upon hearing the telltale sounds of lightsaber combat.

"Let's just say they won't be around much longer to share what they learn," Rynseh replied in cold arrogance with a wicked grin made specially for his foe. "Put the good master through."

"Master Lahan."

The voice that came through was deep and measured, the baritone resonance of Grand Master Quellus carrying with it a natural authority that did not need to assert itself. There was no urgency in his tone, but a controlled gravity that settled into the space between each exchange of blades.

"I trust I am not interrupting anything you consider... delicate?"

The Fosh did not press the moment the voice came through. If anything, his movement slowed, the twin blades easing their rhythm into something measured, observant, as though the interruption itself had become part of the exchange.

"Delicate?" he echoed quietly, the word carrying a faint, almost amused curiosity as he turned one blade aside and jumped back to make some space between them, blades resting either side as he stared with mad intent at the Cathar. "Oh, no. Not delicate, Grand Master..."

With each attempted mortal strike from the Fosh, the much larger Cathar man returned more than twice what was received in terms of raw strength. When he heard the voice of his foe, his tapered feline ears twitched in partial familiarity.

"I think I recognize this one now," Ryn reported to Quellus. "It seems we have found Master Jerion's lost padawan." He stepped back, allowing the Fosh to regain some composure and press the attack with the idea of making him think he had an opening against a tired worn down Jedi Master. "Not quite fallen to the darkness, but...more held captive by it, like all of these fanatics."

Ryn dropped the defensive and winded facade and shifted stance to Djem So, amplifying his momentum dramatically with Force power and aggressively struck, countered, slashed, parried and quickly brought down his weapon in an overhead chop. They locked blades, two crossed red energy blades barely catching his brilliant azure blue.

"What's your name, son?" Ryn sternly asked as he leaned in, his muscles barely under any strain even as he was pressing down hard on the Fosh, his power forcing the Fosh's knees to bend.

The twin blades trembled where they met Rynseh’s, the Fosh’s stance collapsing inch by inch under the weight driven through him. His knees bent further, boots grinding against the sanctum floor as he fought to hold the line, breath catching in his throat in short, uneven pulls. What had been fluid only moments before now stuttered, his second blade wavering as he struggled to keep it aligned - to keep anything aligned.

Around them, the sound had changed. There were fewer voices and fewer moving bodies. The rhythm of the enclave was breaking under the Templar invasion. The cultist's eyes flicked, just once, past Rynseh’s shoulder - enough to see the complete absence of his fellow warriors and devotees.

He forced his gaze back up, meeting the Cathar’s without flinching, though the effort showed now, feathered features tightening, breath audible between his words.

"...Names are taken," he managed, voice thinner than before, but still carrying something stubborn within it. "Given... stripped away." The strain deepened and his arms shook, the angle of his blades slipping further as Rynseh bore down. "I am... Veyr." There was a shark inhale of breath as he struggled to speak. "I... am... Chosen!"

The word steadied him, if only for a moment, but another effortless push from Rynseh drove him lower still.

"It does not matter," Veyr continued, more to himself now than to the man above him, the words coming in fragments between breaths. "You see... them fall... and think it ends... but it has already begun. Axion rises..." His gaze hardened, with certainty, even as his body failed him. "All who touch the Force... will be touched by Him!"

"Then he is lost."

Quellus’ voice returned, unchanged in tone, the same measured baritone threading cleanly through the clash of blades and laboured breath alike.

"The Reborn Code is clear, Master Lahan." There was a brief pause. "See to it that he is spared further suffering. Send him to join Master Jerion in peace."

The order was given, and what had been Rynseh's face of controlled serenity and genuine patriarchal concern had quickly morphed into narrowed predatory eyes and a baring of feline incisors.

Veyr summoned a surprising sudden burst of Force-infused dark rage to repulse Ryn's overpowering lock, but it all it did was cause the Master to take a few controlled steps back, and see what was coming. Ryn saw the hate-induced maddened leaping slash, released a hand from his lightsaber hilt, and caught Veyr midair and then promptly sent him flying back against the far wall. The impact caused the Fosh's lightsabers to drop and he was helpless to move against the constant weight of telekinesis that help him above the floor.

To Veyr's horrified confusion, he saw Ryn disable his own lightsaber and clasp it back to his belt as he approached. Ryn strode up, grabbed Veyr by the throat, and with a subtle shift of his fingers and an applied impulse of Force energy, snapped the Fosh's neck. Veyr was released and dropped lifeless to the floor like trash ready for the bin, eyes wide with the sudden shock of his existence so easily ended.

"It is done, Master Quellus," Rynseh calmly concluded, completely unperturbed by what had transpired, as if it didn't happen at all. He brought up his left gauntlet which doubled as functional armor and had a commlink and holoprojecter built-in. A miniature image of Quellus appeared above the gauntlet as the other Templars entered the room having finished executing the remaining cultists. "I'm told you had an urgent message for me?"

The miniature image of Grand Master Quellus resolved in wavering blue above Rynseh's gauntlet, small and imperfectly defined, yet somehow still carrying the bearing of the tall Chagrian seated far away in the heart of the Jedi Temple. His heavy brow seemed to deepen as the image stabilised, and although the holoprojection could not fully capture the grey scrutiny of his eyes, it conveyed enough of their weight.

"I did, Master Lahan," Quellus said, making no further comment upon Veyr's death, nor the bodies now cooling around the sanctum. "The data rod you provided to Masters Sotah and Thurius has yielded results of considerable importance. It would seem that exile and indignation have not robbed either of them of their usefulness."

There was no triumph in the remark, only a grave satisfaction, as though a difficult but necessary instrument had performed its intended function.

"Our analysts followed the signal markers embedded within the material, and in doing so, have identified a residual communications pattern tied to their ship. Thane of Caanus and Bomoor Thort have left a trail."

Quellus shifted slightly within the projection, the faint distortion of the holocall bending around the ornate suggestion of his robes and cranial horns.

"The vessel has passed through the Sleheyron system in Hutt Space. Further research is underway as we speak, but the indication is sufficiently strong that I deemed it unwise to delay informing you."

A pause followed, and when Quellus spoke again, his voice lowered into something sterner, more personal without becoming intimate.

"This may be our first true opportunity to intercept Thort and Thane, and I know this has been a matter of personal interest to you."

"We'll make haste to Sleheyron," Ryn assured Quellus. "Once we find them, there's still the matter of tracking down Rusasha and my former apprentice. But most concerning of all is the Cult of Axion. We believe this enclave we've eliminated was responsible for the failed assault on our outpost in the Beshqek system. Master, I recommend the Cult becomes our top priority, not just for the Shadows, but for the entire Reborn Jedi Order. The Cult's top lieutenants are the most formidable dark acolytes I've ever encountered and cannot be allowed to remain at-large."

The faint shimmer of the holoprojection seemed to waver for a moment longer than before, as though something in Rynseh’s report had unsettled the connection itself. Quellus’ expression had hardened.

"The Beshqek system..." he repeated, slower now, the name given weight as it passed his lips. "Master Vemrus has spoken of that region more than once in recent weeks. His visions have been... persistent." A brief pause followed, his gaze drifting ever so slightly, as though recalling something half-formed, half-seen, eyes examining his unseen surroundings. "But not this. What he described was not a cult, nor any such fragmented gathering of zealots. There was no sense of this Axion or his adherents in what he perceived. Something else stirs there... something less immediate, but no less concerning."

The Grand Master shifted slightly, the moment of reflection closing as cleanly as it had opened. "Even so,", he continued, "your assessment is noted. The Cult of Axion has demonstrated capability, but let us not mistake appearance for substance, Master Lahan. They present the illusion of structure, of purpose, of rising power... but what you describe, and what we have observed, speaks rather of opportunists. Raiders. Thieves emboldened by relics and circumstance. Their strike has already failed and their forces diminish. Their time will come... but they are not the greater concern. The situation within the Outer Rim continues to deteriorate. The so-called Rift Jedi grow increasingly bold in their dissent, and intelligence suggests they are mobilising, advancing their training timelines. There are movements... alignments... that point towards open conflict."

Quellus leaned forward slightly within the projection, the distortion tightening around his features. "In such a climate, division within our own Order is a vulnerability we cannot afford. Former Knights Thane and Thort are no longer errant agents to be observed or reasoned with - they have become a focal point for that division, whether they even know it. Wherever they go, instability follows. Rusasha. Zenarrah. Sotah. Thurius." Each name was delivered with their own shade of contempt and frustration. "And Loren..."

And Mykles, Ryn thought in reference of the young departed Cathar apprentice to Master Thurius, of whom Ryn was quite proud of from a distance until the day the dark underbelly of Coruscant devoured the promise and hope of Mykles' inner light. He knew from the bottom of his heart that if Mykles had been his apprentice instead, Ryn would have guided him like a father would to a son. He would not have made the same mistakes he did with Rusasha by keeping his distance from her, even going so far as to publicly deny their blood connection. Every son and daughter needs a good father without exception, regardless of sapient species. That understanding was more important to him now than anything he ever learned being a Jedi. He deeply regretted that it took him over fifty years of life to have finally figured it out.

Quellus paused and looked down, although it was hard to tell if it was a genuinely sombre moment or a careful affectation. Either way, it passed quickly and he looked back to the Cathar. "If they are not confronted, that pattern will continue. Others will look to them, not merely out of curiosity, but for guidance. In time, even those who now stand against us may find in them a cause."

The Chagrian Jedi's voice now lowered, quiet but absolute, his steely gaze examining his former pupil with a mixture of pride and a statesman's heavy heart. "We cannot permit that, for the sake of the Order and the Republic. You will proceed to Sleheyron, Master Lahan. You will locate them. And you will bring this matter to its conclusion. I understand the Guild also has a sizeable bounty out upon their little crew, which may be of benefit to you."

"It shall be concluded," Rynseh affirmed to his master. "May the Force be with us all, my master."

Several minutes later, the relection of flames danced across Rynseh's earthy green eyes. He watched as his Templars completed their work, and together they witnessed the Cult's compound decimated and violently razed, smoldering to ashes. A flash of memory came back to him of Balmorra, the day he was forced to be the man on fire, bathed in the cleansing flames of treachery.

He lowered his gaze and thought of Zenarrah, her warm tender smile and the inappropriate passionate kiss they consensually shared after she became his apprentice. Then his mind drifted to Rusasha, the daughter he nearly choked to death before she escaped the Jedi Temple, and for what? All for her wanting to do the right thing and expose a scummy Caanan politician whose secret deeds were known to the Council, but was shielded and could not be allowed to be exposed. Not when things were already so tenuous for the Republic. Not now. Not yet.

I can make things right he silently convinced himself, and then thought of Veyr, neck snapped and cremated, forgotten by all. I can save them. But Quellus...he won't let me. He once taught me to see the good in people. He's changed...I've changed.

Ryn looked down at his bare hands covered in synthetic skin grafts, and they began to tremor ever so slightly. He then looked up back at the flames, and inhaled the crisp smoke of sapient death thick in the air, and he refocused, determined to be the sword that carried the will of the Jedi Council, his personal feelings be damned.

He turned and marched towards his starship, the young Templars falling in formation with him, their mission complete, but the crusade had only just started.

END

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