What was buried...
Posted on Thu Mar 5th, 2026 @ 10:02pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort & Melliah Glynt
1,591 words; about a 8 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Lower Levels, Wyrd Estate, New Alderaan
Timeline: After "The Music Stops"
Lady Elyce Wyrd had said nothing as she guided them down the winding corridors and stairwells to the lower levels. Bomoor and Thane allowed the silence for the most part, once Thane had filled Bomoor in on his encounter with Glynt on the upper levels. The Ithorian absorbed the information thoughtfully, particularly the knowledge of the long legacy of Axion's servants being stewards of the house. Everything about this world seemed to revolve around legacy, even its curses.
The air grew colder as they carried on. The stone underfoot shifted from polished marble to older, rougher cuts as the raw volcanic stone of the land was laid bare. Eventually, the corridor opened into a narrow antechamber, its far wall split by a doorway that had been forced inward. The metal frame bowed, the lock assembly torn apart by a furious heat. The acidic stench of burning still hung in the air.
Thane stood at the threshold, staring down into the darkness below. The air that rose from it was stale, touched by something old and unsettling. His expression was unreadable: not anger, not anticipation, but a kind of thoughtful stillness, as though he were listening for something only he could hear.
Behind him, Bomoor crouched beside the shattered remains of a lightsaber. The shoto’s hilt lay in two pieces, its casing warped and blackened. He lifted one half gently, turning it in his broad fingers.
"This wasn’t broken in a fight," he murmured, out loud but not to anyone in particular, "She burned through it herself. Forced it past its limits."
His brow furrowed, "But the crystal is gone. Removed, not destroyed. Odd."
Thane did not look back, but the faint tightening of his jaw showed he had heard.
Their thoughts were interrupted by a soft, strained breath behind them.
"I cannot go further."
Lady Wyrd stood at the base of the stairs, one hand braced against the wall, the other still hovering near her throat. Her voice was steadier than before, but the rawness lingered.
"I am not sure I could even if I wished to," she added, a bitter edge threading through the words.
Bomoor rose slowly, studying her with a mixture of sympathy and caution.
"You’ve taken us far enough," he nodded, eyes still cautious, "But, before we go on, tell us what we will truly find down there."
Elyce tried to laugh, but the sound collapsed into a wince. She pressed her fingers to her throat, swallowing against the pain.
"You’ve come this far," she rasped, "Just see for yourselves."
Her gaze flicked to the broken shoto in Bomoor’s hand, then to the darkness beyond Thane.
"But truly?" Her voice dropped to a low, exhausted venom, "I hope Glynt catches you first and finishes you... as she’s likely already finished your so‑called ward."
The words hung in the air, sharp as a blade.
Thane moved before the echo of her words had finished settling. There was no gesture, no visible strike - the pressure through the Force simply came. Elyce’s legs buckled as if the strength had been drawn from them, and she was forced down hard onto the stone. A sharp crack split the narrow chamber, the unmistakable sound of a bond snapping, giving way as her knee struck the floor. She gasped, hands bracing uselessly, breath ragged and thin.
Thane stood over her, gold eyes steady and without heat. "You will not speak of her again like that." The pressure lifted as abruptly as it had arrived. He did not look at Elyce again. His gaze shifted to Bomoor instead. "Shall we?"
Bomoor looked back at Elyce, now quietly whimpering. It was troubling to see, certainly, particularly at his friends hand but he knew that the dark power Axion had over them was far more sinister than anything they could do to them here. They still had their lives, soon to be free from his dark influence. Thane's harsh lesson was merely a wake up call, even if appearing cruel in the moment it would prevent her from hampering their efforts further.
He turned around, now with more certainty in his voice.
"Yes, let's end this."
The stairwell tightened as they descended, the air growing heavier with each step. The polished stone of the upper estate had long since given way to rough volcanic cuts, the walls sweating with moisture that caught the violet and viridian light of their now-illuminated sabers, casting uneven glimmers. The sigils carved along the passage grew denser, more erratic, as though the stone itself had been forced to remember something it wished to forget.
Bomoor slowed, his large hand brushing the wall as if steadying himself, but it was not the stone that unsettled him. His eyes narrowed, the pupils tightening in a way Thane recognised.
Bomoor exhaled through both throats, a low, uneasy rumble, “I can sense Glynt ahead,” he confirmed what they could both feel, “And Amare. Their presences are somewhat strained. Twisted around something else down there.”
He paused, listening inwardly, “Something vast. And old.”
The air thickened further, a muted incense wafted up to them, carrying a faint vibration that was not sound, but more of a pressure: a pulse that seemed to come from the stone itself.
Bomoor’s steps slowed again.
"Thane," he said, voice low, "What do you truly think this StarWyrd bargain is?”
"It is no true bargain," he said quietly, without really elucidating further. His mind was focused in the pressure around them.
There was a peculiar warmth beneath his sternum that did not belong to him, a reassurance that if he simply slowed, simply stopped questioning, all of this could resolve into something stable and clean.
His jaw tightened. They had faced similar surreal powers and warped minds before, but it all tasted wrong in his mouth. He drew in a breath, forcing the sensation back, resisting the faint, almost comforting rhythm rising from below.
The corridor widened ahead and his was getting colder. Beneath the low scrape of chain and breath carrying up to them, he was now certain he heard another sound threading upward - voices.
Thane slowed, head angling slightly as the current pressed harder against the edges of his mind, almost soothing now, almost persuasive. He closed his eyes and sought to centre himself around his anger and dismay, his rage at the fools that called this place home, as Bane's holocron had taught him all that time ago.
"Amare," he hissed, concern tinging his features as a new realisation dawned, the Force cutting through the miasma to suddenly warn him. "We need to move!"
Bomoor held the wall again, a sluggish feeling gripping him as he felt ahead - something heavy pressed into him but he shook it off.
"Right," he nodded, raising his blade into the dark passage, "Let's go."
They sped on, the voices ahead becoming clearer: the Miralukan woman was domineering with Amare's voice faint and uncertain, tinged with a fear she rarely showed, in front of Bomoor at least.
Then something made them slow again: a voice that seeped through the very walls and floors: "Another... arrives..."
Bomoor faltered slightly as the inhuman voice pulsed through him. He saw Thane ahead stumble slightly too, but gritted his teeth and sped onwards. The voice came again, "And she... burns."
Picking himself up, the Ithorian summoned the Force to speed his feet, though careful not to slip on the smooth stone floor. He saw the corridor widen out ahead and a reddish light seeping in. He skidded forwards and stopped next to Thane who was peering over a crumbling stone balustrade to the source of the light down below.
Bomoor's eyes adjusted to the scene and widened as they caught a glimpse of a husk-like being chained to the stone of the round chamber below, illuminated by red-flamed braziers. Whatever it was must have once been a man but much of his humanity had been eroded, seemingly by sheer age, leaving parchment-thin skin layered over his skeleton. But, perhaps even more striking than his horrific visage was the crimson pulsing stone embedded within him: a kaiburr crystal. Just like the Baron of Bespin, but embedded straight into his very flesh.
The husk of a man was pulling forward in his chains as much as possible, stretching out towards Amare, who was hunched over in the centre of the chamber. Above her head hung a crimson blade held by the Miralukan he had spoken to before: the power behind the throne of Wyrd and servant of Axion: Vizier Glynt.
Thane did not hesitate. The sight below burned itself into his mind in an instant: the husk of a man straining in his chains, the pulsing shard buried in his chest, the warped current of the Force spilling through the chamber like incense made tangible. But, his attention snapped immediately to the centre of the room.
His apprentice was bent forward beneath the pressure of something unseen, and above her the Miralukan’s crimson blade hovered with patient certainty.
"Amare!" Thane’s voice cut across the chamber like a crack of thunder. Bomoor’s bellow followed at the same instant.
Neither waited a moment longer and Thane vaulted the crumbling balustrade without breaking stride, dropping through the red-lit air toward the stone floor below. Bomoor jumped in tandem, the Ithorian’s greater mass shaking loose fragments of ancient masonry as he launched himself after.
They fell into the chamber together to face their foe.
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