Rynseh Goes to Sleheyron
Posted on Sat Oct 17th, 2026 @ 1:46pm by Bomoor Thort & Rynseh Lahan
2,155 words; about a 11 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Site of the Undervos Synthspice Factory, Sleheyron
Timeline: Around Day Eight
The factory was dead. Its skeletal remains rose from the ground like the carcass of some immense metallic beast that had crawled into the wastes to die, only for scavengers and weather to pick at its bones. Entire sections of the outer superstructure had collapsed inward, twisted support columns jutting at impossible angles through heaps of rusted durasteel and fractured ferrocrete. What had once been loading platforms now hung suspended over empty air, torn open by explosions and structural failures. Conveyor systems disappeared beneath dunes of windblown sand and chemical ash. Somewhere deep within the ruins, metal groaned intermittently as the changing temperatures forced ancient supports to expand and contract, producing noises uncomfortably similar to distant cries.
The smell struck first. Acidic industrial chemicals - the scent of solvents, fuel additives, burned plastics and things that should never have been allowed to mix with open air. Every breath carried traces of contamination. The ground itself seemed poisoned, with patches of discoloured earth stretched between collapsed structures, stained in hues that nature had never intended. Pools of stagnant liquid shimmered with iridescent films beneath the sunlight.
Fires still burned - small chemical blazes that refused to die, even after more than a standard week later. They flickered in shattered pipes and fractured storage tanks, fed by reactions that had long outlived the people who designed them. Greenish flames danced from ruptured vents. Pale blue tongues of fire licked from cracks in broken machinery. Thin columns of oily black smoke rose lazily into the sky before being scattered by the winds.
Life persisted nevertheless. Lean scavengers moved amongst the ruins like carrion birds. They picked their way through the wreckage in groups, dragging cables and scrap components behind them. A pair of gaunt Humanoids argued over the contents of a cracked container before disappearing into the labyrinth of debris. Somewhere overhead, leathery-winged creatures circled patiently, waiting for something smaller to die.
Nobody challenged the newcomers, though - nobody stopped them. This was Hutt territory, in theory. In practice, it felt entirely abandoned. No banners flew and no Cartel enforcers watched from elevated positions. No local representatives demanded permits, bribes or explanations.
The Hutts had not decidedly not intervened when Jedi/Republic investigators arrived.
The Force itself felt wrong, too. Not dark - not in the way Korriban had been dark, anyway. It was not ancient, hungry or even vibrant. It felt almost polluted, which was maybe more akin to some of the prior Cult enclaves the Jedi Templars had encountered - but something else still lingered. Something fresher and sharper.
At the edge of what had once been a central processing yard stood two figures - one Cathar and one Pau'an. Behind them waited several Templars, their robes and armour immaculate despite the filth surrounding them.
A small remote droid buzzed beside the pale form of the Pau'an Jedi Master Garth Medion. The yellow light tinged his pale lined skin an off-white hue as a faint breeze tugged at the high collar of his tight silvery combat tunic.
Yet his dark eyes remained focussed on his datapad and the garbled binary from the remote. His thin lips curled just enough to reveal the edge of sharp Pau’an teeth: not in anger, but a quiet distaste for the ruin spread before them.
"I have traced the source of the initial explosion to a gas line in the lower levels," he announced to the assembled without turning, his voice a refined Core accent, "Perhaps accidental, but could have just as easily been sabotage given the other signs of cultist activity on the site."
He pivoted at last, meeting Rynseh’s gaze with a steady, unblinking focus, "More of those sigils on some of the surviving surfaces as well as this..."
From his belt he produced a small vial of sandy red powder. He shook it once, and the substance inside rose like vapour, glittering faintly as it caught the light.
"At first, it appeared no more than the synthspice that has been flooding the black markets of late, but the field spectrometer indicates another unknown substance," Medion continued, already returning the vial to his belt, "I will need to send it back for more extensive testing to determine the other component."
He clipped away the datapad, freeing his hands, and folded them neatly behind his back.
"But, more importantly, I can also say with a high degree of certainty that Thane and Bomoor were indeed also present," he nodded, finally getting to the part Rynseh wanted to hear, "Aside from surveillance buoys pinging their vessel approaching this system, there are several shatterpoints created here that I can read, all bearing the fingerprints of our wayward knights."
His voice dropped, the words carrying a quiet weight.
"I believe they still live."
"They had impeccable training," Rynseh remarked with a solemn tone, a slight nod, and a weary gaze as his narrowed eyes slowly swept over the factory ruins. He believed in his comrade's assessment, but was old enough to always allow for a measure of skepticism. "I would expect no less. The sample might be a lead we can work with, but we need more, or the trail will run cold here until the Red Raptor is pinged by another spaceport, but there's no guarantee either Thane or Bomoor or Zenarrah's failed progeny will be on board. The evidence shows lightsabers were involved, but not how many, and there's no remains or intact DNA of the known members of their crew. What are we missing, Medion? What is the link that ties together this wrecked illegal operation with the Raptor and those Axion worms?"
Master Medion considered, his stoic, calculating nature resonating well with Rynseh's own. He raised his dark eyes to the skyline to the point where the haze of heavier yellow gasses gave way to a lighter bluish layer.
"To understand that..." he began, sharp teeth visible as his mouth held open just a moment in thought, "We must first rid ourselves of our assumptions and look at the evidence before us."
He removed a glove and rose a pale finger in the air.
"Assumption number one: Thane and Bomoor arrived here to face the cult. Ergo, this facility was owned and operated by Axion." He tilted his head slightly, "Not necessarily so; my preliminary research indicates the true owner is hiding behind several layers of obscurity: formerly managed by Yaxley Galactic Solutions and still using the name as a shell, another name appears connected to it now: Undervos Holdings. Not a name I have seen any cult ties to."
He allowed the information to settle before raising another finger.
"Assumption number two: we stand here in the ruins of the factory, knowing our former knights likely escaped. Therefore, we assume they were victorious. But survival is not synonymous with success; our informants embedded near Axion’s outer circles report no disruption. No panic. No mourning. Quite the opposite; the cult’s chatter is jubilant. Emboldened. They speak as those who have gained something, not lost it."
He dropped his hand and looked more firmly at Rynseh.
"Of course, I merely propose alternate assumptions... but when the future remains ever clouded even to the strongest prophets such as Master Vemrus, we must be willing to examine all threads and not simply tug the sturdiest."
From nearly a kilometer away, a compact pair of macrobinoculars were adjusted and zoomed in on the ruins of the factory. The eyes that spied through the device zoomed in one particular Jedi.
"Rynseh Lahan..." muttered a deep male gravely voice behind the lens. "Back from the dead and still chasing phantoms. When will you ever learn?"
He saw his quarry become subtly perturbed, then scanned the ruins, and finally looked in the direction of the spy and narrowed his feline eyes.
"At least the hellfire didn't strip you of your senses," the spy muttered before withdrawing back into the shadows.
"Hold those thoughts," Rynseh said quietly to Medion and signalled to him to move behind solid cover. "We need to go mobile," he said behind the charred remains of a support structure he was certain would be enough to stop most blaster and bowcaster bolts. "Assemble the others. We've a rogue nipping at our tails, and not the curious passerby type either. Let's seek out this Undervos Holdings you mentioned. Trouble always follows money, and I would not be surprised they're still here, perhaps even closer than we think."
Medion looked over his shoulder to the distance, narrowing his gaze before complying.
"Of course," he nodded, swiftly bringing himself partial cover as suggested, "If someone is here, they may also have some connection to events and will need to be interrogated."
Medion brought up his comm and set it to the local group, "Templars, suspend your tasks and return to the ship. Master Lahan and I shall meet you there shortly."
Within ten minutes, they were in the air on the Cometsweep-class Jedi dropship, flying low over the vicinity in a search pattern.
Medion's tall collar ruffled as the wind from the carrier's open hatch buffeted his side.
He turned to Rynseh who was peering down at the ground below as it swept by, eyes fierce.
"We have monitored the sector's traffic and there has been nothing new," the Pau'an had to raise his voice over the sweeping wind and engine groan, yet still delivered the words matter-of-factly, "Whoever is down there was already here before we arrived: a local, perhaps, or someone else interested in combing through the wreckage here?"
"No," Rynseh answered the rhetorical question, standing right at the edge of the open side hatch. "Just an old troublemaker." He placed a brotherly hand on Medion's shoulder, grinned at him with a nod, then tossed himself off the edge.
Rynseh fell some thirty feet before landing and rolling forward on the cargo containers of a small passing freight delivery transport. He was up on his feet and leaped fearlessly again. He repeated this on a speeder, kicked off it, grabbed and slid along a sloping network relay cable, then after a few more seconds let go. His over fifty-foot arrival on the rooftop of a tall residential building was heroic with one knee up, one knee down, and right open hand down. He was facing down, for a moment, then his head snapped up, and immediately threw himself into a hard sprint before bounding from the building he was on over to the next the way only a Jedi Master could.
For Medion, it didn't take long to realize Rynseh wasn't trying to recapture the feeling of his youth, but was actually giving chase, spotting a retreating black-cloaked figure who was withdrawing from the Cathar's pursuit across the rooftops with extraordinary speed.
His voice echoed in Rynseh's ear on his comm.
"Theatrical, yet practical as ever, Rynseh," The Pau'an made a rare break in form to use the Templar-leader's first name, "I have a visual on your target. Maintain pursuit and we will provide air support."
The comm dropped off and Rynseh heard the sound of the dropship altering it's thrusters high above to join the chase. The dark figure was still on the rooftops, darting with great agility behind chimney stacks and water towers in order to break the Cathar's gaze. But Rynseh could match the intruder and never lost the figure for more than a second.
Within moments, the dropship was sweeping ahead, carving a line through the thick acrid fog that settled at this altitude. It swung around and let loose a targeted barrage of fire at the rooftop ahead. Again, the dark shape reacted and shot through the resulting curtain of smoke like a chimaera ray slicing through the surf.
The figure utilised the moment to drop down onto a lower walkway.
"Target has left the rooftop and has turned Southwards," Garth's voice came again, his practiced tactical mind quickly formulating, "Stay high, adjust your heading and you can cut them off."
A loud ear-piercing feedback sound cut across the commlink. Rynseh winced and growled under the noise. Before he could switch channel, a distorted electronically altered deep male voice cut in.
"Age hasn't slowed you down one bit," the phantom unknown said calmly.
"Whoever you are, do not think you will evade us for long!" Ryn snapped at the voice as he lost visual of his quarry.
"I have no intention of running..."
From about twenty paces behind, Rynseh heard the telltale whispered ignition of a well-crafted lightsaber.
"Not when you seem so keen to chase the wrong shadows." The phantom spoke now not over the comm, but behind a mask in-person.
An acid-tinged wind swept across the metal rooftops as the pair stood alone again after these many years.
TBC
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