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lavampira · 2 years

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catalyst

3.6k words. cadrien x minaiph (belongs to @storyofthemoon). swtor. an expanded rewrite of an old prompt for gigi beloved's birthday <3 cw: violence, blood/gore, and descriptions of injuries. [ao3]

Two cloaked Sith stalk through the wreckage of an abandoned industrial building, their steps silent despite the dilapidated emptiness all around them, torn banners and debris littering the floor and furniture arranged in haphazard barricades. They move as one through the shadows, the years of training and months of working alongside each other shifting them into a cohesive unit as they hunt.

The thundering artillery has held off for now, but it’s only a matter of time before Torvix’s forces regroup. Sheer incompetence has all but cost the Empire its grip on the war-torn world, quickly losing access to its key source of processing hypermatter by the minute, and so the pair of Sith more often referred to as the Claws these days have been sent to clean up the mess. Their task is to eliminate the double-crossing councilor, leaving the rest to Imperial forces to sweep through his network while they scramble without their head.

But too many things about the plan have set Cadrien on edge. For one thing, the fact that it’s been labeled a one-trip mission lingers in the back of his mind. He’d forgone his usual armor for the sake of moving easier through the silent dark, no longer as covered as he normally would have been, and Minaiph isn’t much better. Some of the intel hasn’t added up either, slight gaps in the logistical details that he can’t help but fixate on as they’re forced to improvise. And if there’s anything that he loathes, it’s improvising a mission.

Uneasiness crawls cold up his spine the further they delve into the building. None of the usual sounds he expects to hear reach his ears—no rhythmic beeping of the construction droids at work, no scraping and creaking of makeshift barricades, no reloading ammunition, no patrolling footsteps of the guards that should be among the hallways. Stretching out his senses as far as he can reach, he finds no one but Min and him.

“What is it?” Min whispers, his outline in the Force shifting as he drops the hood of his cloak, running an idle hand over his braid. “You’re tense.”

“Something isn’t right,” Cadrien says.

“Too quiet.”

Cadrien nods, uncertain whether or not he’s eased by the validation that he senses it, too. It might be easier to accept if it had only been his nerves, worked up by his own overactive mind. He slows as Min slips ahead to pass through a narrow passage, trailing behind him with a hand not far from the hilt of his sword.

The immediate room is empty as they enter, but something pricks at the edges of his senses. Cadrien sticks close to his friend as they wander towards what should be a hideout according to their intel, and he realizes that they’re not alone after all, a shrouded figure moving beyond the wall. But it’s not their target—other figures fluctuate into formation ahead of them, crowding around the door.

As soon as they materialize in his perception, Cadrien snaps a gloved hand to Min’s shoulder, and the other man stops in his tracks, twisting his head to look at him. He signals with a closed fist, shaking left to right, followed by two, no, three raised fingers. Frustration flares through Min’s signature, but he stays quiet, slinking away from the room.

Cadrien clenches his jaw and stifles his own aggravation as he lengthens his stride, desperate to keep his head clear to think. He weighs their options. The simplest solution would be to return to base and find the source of the bad intel, but they run the risk of losing ground on Torvix and his forces. They could try to divert them, lure them out of the room to divide and conquer, but it hinges on whether they can even be drawn out, making it as much of a risk.

Not that it matters in the end. They don’t make it very far backtracking across the way that they had weaved through the building, blocked in by more approaching figures, and it’s painfully clear then that they had been sent into a trap. They have no choice but to fight with Torvix’s forces enclosing them from both ends. Min seems to realize it at the same time, a low noise ripping from his throat before he reaches for his lightsabers, the twin plasma blades flaring into his perception.

“Nothing personal,” one of them taunts, peeking at them from behind a table. “But the big guy wants to make an example out of you. Says leaving the bodies of two Sith in the middle of the Black Hole might be enough of a message.”

Min lets out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Sounds personal to me.”

The air is charged with the all too familiar frenetic energy before initial combat, only for the briefest pause before someone makes the first move. One of the Corellians lobs something in their direction. Min dodges it easily, always so fast and nimble on his feet, and leaps into the fray with furious lightsabers whirling through the air.

And then the fight is on, their ambushers opening fire as they launch into their attack. Cadrien is steady on his feet as he slashes his sword to deflect a bolt and catches one of them by the throat with the Force, flicking his wrist with a sickening crack that sounds over the cacophony echoing in the shambled room. Another crowds close to him with a pair of daggers, forcing a grunt out of him as he fights to outmaneuver the sharp blades.

He gets separated from Min in the fray, too distracted to properly count how many they’ve dispatched and how many are left, but his friend’s signature bounces around the edge of the room as he uses his own speed to gain the upper hand. It’s a dance that Cadrien never tires of witnessing. Min is all ferocious grace, all relentless purpose, his body as much of a tool as his blades as he weaves and presses his attack, the outline of his long braid trailing behind him.

Time almost seems to slow as the fight lulls, giving Cadrien a fraction of a moment to think. It’s all he needs. He pinpoints one of their ambushers taking advantage of Min’s blindspot, that singular point of weakness in his closest friend’s unyielding offense, holding off two figures with frantic flurrying of his lightsabers but not spotting the lone one with an electroblade edging up behind him. All Cadrien has to do is leap behind him, switch hands with his sword, and drive it through the person’s chest to prevent it from piercing Min’s back.

But he has always, always been slow wielding with his left hand, no matter how long he’s spent training. The only possibilities that he can conceive end with him in Min’s place if he intervenes, and his stomach plummets, taking him right back to that tomb on Korriban where he nearly perished at sixteen and the oath to himself that he’d never let an ambush take him again.

No weakness, no mercy.

The thought of Min being run through with that blade shoots raw fear through him, and he realizes it then, how it’s not even a question. Only one person means more to him than his own life and his own honor.

Cadrien lunges.

His sword transfers easily to his left hand as he lands behind Min. He twists to shield the vibrant energy of Min’s back with his broader frame, but his motion is cut short as white-hot pain explodes through his left shoulder and spreads on a current through his neck and chest. A sharp gasp rips from his throat as he stumbles, bumping into Min in an attempt to right himself, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet long enough to give him an opening.

The Force surges through him as he calls on it, overpowering the agony and the adrenaline warring for control of his senses. Cadrien draws in a shuddering breath, demanding it to obey his will, and rushes to release it in a swift burst. Raw power cracks across the room and voices cry out all around him before the cold, creeping tendrils of energy start to seep back to him.

It’s not enough. The amount of essence he can draw is outweighed by how quickly he’s fading. It’s an atrophied muscle, unused since he was still an acolyte, closed in by those who had assumed him weak. He pants through his teeth, dropping to his knees.

The person who stabbed him flees.

Cadrien lowers himself more fully to the ground, unable to hold up his own weight any longer as his entire body convulses and he coughs up blood. He rolls onto his side, his trembling hand smudging slick and wet up his face, over his mask, and into his hair, trying in vain to keep himself together. Min’s frantic voice calls to him, but he sounds too distant, masked by the clash of lightsabers.

The last thing he clings to is how brilliant Min glows as he tears through his opponents despite his waning perception, the world blinking out around him until even that bright spot is gone, too.

Is this what it means to love?

Do you mind that I’ve weakened myself before you?

What Cadrien notices as he begins to come to again, though desperately fighting against the sleep that refuses to release him from its grasp, is that he is still in a medbay. His mask seems to remain on his face despite his predicament, not that it hinders his ability to perceive around him. The machinery idly hums and beeps throughout the room, generating a pulse of its own that manages to tip him off before the cold, stagnant air recirculating through the vents and Force signature of the room around him even do.

The next thing he notes is that he isn’t alone.

He senses Minaiph not long before he pinpoints him hovering at the side of the bed, his commanding and lively presence unmistakable even in Cadrien’s drowsy state. His outline seems to shift his weight from foot to foot as if he can’t stand still and radiates a deluge of concern and confusion that threatens to fill the room to burst. But when he notices Cadrien stretch his long legs out in the bed and test his sore limbs, avoiding his injured arm, he stops.

“Cade?” Min’s deep voice is quiet, almost whispering, and the idea of it is so absurd that it almost makes him want to laugh. “Are you awake?”

Cadrien opens his mouth to answer him, but his voice croaks and breaks before a solid word can even form, and he’s grateful when a glass of water is nudged to his lips and a steady hand eases his head enough to help him drink. With anyone else, it may have been an unbearable blow to his pride—or worse, a sign of weakness that would certainly mark his demise—but after everything that the pair of them have been through together since their days as overeager acolytes, he accepts the gesture for what it is, a trusted friend lending a hand.

The water is too warm, but it manages to soothe some of the dryness in his throat as it goes down, and all too soon he finishes it off, leaving Min to ease him back against the pillows as he sets aside the cup. Cadrien assumes that he will get a medic to check on his injury, but he’s surprised when instead Min walks over to the side of the bed and lowers himself to it, the mattress dipping under his weight as he plants himself near his thigh.

Cadrien stills as calloused fingers slowly trace along the puckered scar that snakes over his left shoulder and verges on his pectoral—the new wound, his tender flesh still freshly marred, trudging up the memory of his gritted teeth and back bowed off the gurney while a medic wrenched him back together. His throat remains sore and hoarse, a dull ache that lingers in his stubborn, half-conscious refusal of a lengthy soak in a kolto tank. He must’ve lost the battle with his own stoicism during the process.

“Does it still hurt?” Min asks.

Lifting his shoulder in an attempted shrug, Cadrien winces at its immediate twinge in protest. “The medic did what they could.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Min.”

“Cadrien,” Min returns, startlingly serious. Apparently this isn’t one of those times when he’s willing to let things go. “Are you in pain?”

A long silence lapses as Cadrien considers him before he finally concedes, “Only if I move my arm. I’m fine.”

At that, Min gives a noncommittal hum. The answer seems to put him at ease, leaning onto an arm bracketing Cadrien’s leg to hold his weight as he settles more onto the bed, warmth emanating from his body despite the chill in the room, but not quite touching him. Something like fondness swells and settles deep within his chest, and unable to suppress it, Cadrien shifts his uninjured arm to run a hand through his damp hair.

Foolish.

He knows that it had been an undeniably stupid risk, that he had been too caught up in the momentary panic that the loss of Min would’ve been far more devastating than any possible injury to himself. It goes against everything he knows, everything that he’s been taught, and yet he’s also aware that he would suffer the same consequences again and again and again, regardless of what is expected of him. The why of it is something he’s trying not to think about, but it’s been running through his mind against his will.

He’s in love with Min.

The man who’d survived the red sands of Korriban alongside him. The Sith whom he’s meant to trust, whom he actually does, to work together in the Empire’s interests. His best friend who’d dragged his broken, unconscious body across Corellia, and now lingers at his side, caring for him in a way that he’s not sure that he should want or even deserves. But desire has long since clawed a hollow space in his chest and made itself a home.

It just took a pivotal moment to realize it.

Bracing himself for the inevitable pain, Cadrien grabs at the surprisingly plush mattress and heaves himself further upright with a groan. Min shifts as the outline of his hand moves like he’s going to grab him before it falls, curling into a fist at his side, and huffs an abrupt exhale. His energy ebbs and flits in the Force, boisterous and restless as ever yet intermingled with something that Cadrien can’t quite place. Something is clearly on his mind now, but he’s withholding it, and that alone makes the whole thing too unusual to wrap his own head around it. He almost starts to believe that Min will leave it be until he eventually speaks.

“I took care of it.”

Cadrien tilts his head towards him. “What?”

“The one who did that to you,” Min says, his voice rough, betraying the faintest hint of burning anger beneath the surface. “I dealt with him.”

It brings the memory of their assailant retreating into the shadows as his perception faded flashing back to the forefront of his mind. Cadrien had wondered when he’d first awoken, however briefly before the agonizing pain set in, if he’d gotten away from them. But he supposes that is his answer.

It’s nothing that either of them haven’t done in the past, but something about his declaration settles over the room like a heavy weight. Cadrien swallows around a lump in his throat and forces some semblance of a nod. Min’s figure eases, slouching after a nod of his own in turn.

Darth Vicari visits him within the week.

Her presence is unmistakable, a cold sensation sweeping through the room before he even drowsily registers her standing against the wall.

Cadrien doesn’t bother questioning how she found out about his injury. Even kept occupied with the Dread Guard presence on Belsavis, she has a plethora of sources to feed her information, most of which he’s never been able to uncover to his inplacable frustration, and keeping track of her former apprentice has always been a priority. He would expect nothing less of a Sith with her experience.

It’s the fact that she deigned to check up on him in person so swiftly that gives him pause.

Instinctively, he reaches out with his senses for Min, relief filling him as he pinpoints his friend’s vibrant energy in the hallway. He’s hardly left Cadrien’s side in the last few days aside from debriefings and other follow-ups on the results of their mission. One call of his name, and Cadrien knows that he would be at his side, regardless of what transpires. It’s enough to sink back into the pillows behind him.

“Reckless and self-sacrificial aren’t terms that come to mind when I consider you,” Darth Vicari says low once she’s certain that he’s alert, her stern tone cutting through the room. “Yet here you are.”

“I calculated the situation,” Cadrien returns, biting back his own bitterness.

“And you chose to risk your own life?”

“Min and I— We look out for each other.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she says, pushing herself off the wall, “but did you not tell me that you vowed in that tomb to never put yourself in a position like the one you threw yourself into for him?”

He grits his teeth. “I agreed to work with him. I’m not going to just let him die if I’m able to protect him.”

“Yes, yes. Honor.” The signature of her hand waves him off as she takes a few steps closer, leaning like she’s peering at something. “It’s troublesome working with other Sith, you know. Most won’t share that way of thinking. Many will want to use you because of it.”

“Like you?”

Shock flashes through her signature before annoyance takes its place, at odds with the controlled way that she eases upright again and faces him. “Excuse me?”

Cadrien swallows hard, fighting to keep his breathing even, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of his reaction while he has the upper hand. She’s gotten too close to the truth about why he would take an unnecessary and fatal blow for his comfort, his only move now to deflect away from her questions. But he needs a clear head to dodge her uncanny way of deciphering body language—something he lacks right now, medicated and groggy, and frankly too exhausted to hold back.

“Don’t pretend the reason you chose me as an apprentice wasn’t because of my ability,” he says, his voice far sharper than he intends. “And your spies told you about the debrief, how I used the Force in a way that you wanted me to do for you, but I did it to protect Minaiph, so here you are.” He clenches his hands into fists in the sheet, his shoulder aching with the tension, and he has to force himself to let go. “I know perfectly well what other Sith are capable of.”

His outburst reverberates in the chilly room before it falls to silence, save for the soft mechanical beeps of the various machinery. Tension weighs heavy between them in a way that it never has in the past. Cadrien has never voiced that suspicion, how he’s known from the start that he was more self-preserving tool to her than simple apprentice, letting it go as the nature of Sith, and she’s never confessed to it. But now he’s a Sith Lord in his own right, and now his acknowledgement is out in the open.

Darth Vicari clears her throat. “Rather risky of you to be so insolent while you’re vulnerable.”

“Attacking someone who’s already wounded isn’t your way,” Cadrien returns, arrogance bleeding into his tone even as he prepares for the possibility of her retaliation on principle simply because he’s testing her. But she doesn’t make her move, and she doesn’t deny it either, folding her arms over her chest. “Mock me for adhering to honor if you’d like, but you’re no different.”

“He’s influenced you.”

Cadrien hesitates. “Perhaps.”

“Be sure that it doesn’t get you into trouble with someone less willing to overlook it.” She drifts silently towards the door, only pausing when it hisses open, her figure shifting as she glances over her shoulder. “You’re wrong about why I came here, by the way. I only wanted to understand.”

Darth Vicari is gone before he can question what she means, leaving him feeling as though he’s stumbled into yet another trap.

The door barely hisses closed before it reopens, though, and the bright outline of Min enters the room, his long legs carrying him to the side of the bed in a few hasty strides. He hovers for a moment, fidgeting beside the bed with too much pent-up energy. Cadrien senses the weight of his gaze checking him over even if he can’t see Min’s eyes for himself, and while he knows that Min has only been more so vigilant and protective over him because it’s the first time that one of them has gotten so badly injured while working together, he can’t quite stifle the corrosive want that swells in his chest.

You make me feel safe.

The words die on his tongue before they ever have a chance to leave his mouth. He blames them on his delirious state, much as he does the temptation to reach across the thin sheet for Min, contemplating what it might be like to slide tentative fingertips along the ridges of his arm until he finds his hand, but he quickly shuts down that thought, even as his fingers twitch with the impulse.

Instead, Cadrien focuses on what he can sense of Min at his side with his strong and energetic signature that melds around him in the Force, and he tells himself that it’s enough.

#mushy banana hours but gigi ilysm you’re one of my fav people in this world and i treasure our friendship sm <3 #now everyone go wish her a very happy birthday too <3 #dani writes things #star wars #fic: star wars #game: the old republic #oc: cadrien tirai #minaiph #cadrien/min #oc: ana maite vicari

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lorebird · 1 year

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hi lore hi hi hi you said hisui headcanon lore???? 👀👀👀 hisui hc lore please 👀 ty

HIIIII I was gonna draw some stuff for this but. Alas it is 6 am and god has seen fit to punish me for my hubris (cramps) so I’m just gonna distract myself writing this while I wait for the ibuprofen to kick in

So this is like. Completely out there bc it’s just me cherry-picking the series’ worldbuilding that I enjoy (and also completely changing it) for the sake of self indulgence <3

The Celestica people lived in ancient Hisui and were part of a trade network with the other regions. 3000 years ago, there was a war between Galar and Kalos that resulted in the darkest day and the ultimate weapon, and the news spread all over. A few centuries later, a traveller from Hisui came across the decimated weapon and its story. Idk who this character’s gonna be, probably a new OC bc I can't think of a canon character to throw this backstory onto

A bit of hc lore regarding how the ultimate weapon works: it's powered by infinity energy, the life force of pokemon, which is canon. I elaborate on that by having all infinity energy sourced from Arceus. Every pokemon is tied to it through the infinity energy necessary to live and exist (oh my god I just thought of the implications of this for manmade pokemon holy shit that's so cool I gotta think about this more), but some have more power than others. Legendaries (and maybe some mythicals?? I can't remember them all rn), which have power over nature/reality, have some of Arceus' own creation power tied into their infinity energy. All those mons are some of Arceus' thousand arms. This power can be harnessed by the ultimate weapon, which is how Lysandre intends to make the player immortal by powering it with Xerneas (so if someone powered an ultimate weapon with Kyogre, it could manipulate the oceans; if someone powered it with necrozma, it could manipulate light; etc etc)

So anyways -- the Hisuian came back and began building a new weapon, this time with the intent to create an entirely new world, just like Cyrus and Volo. Instead of a singular body like in Kalos, the three "petals" were placed around the region, equidistant from the temple of Sinnoh in the center. Each third was powered by one of the creation trio's orbs.

But tracking down those orbs was tough work -- the weapon-builder, who I'm just gonna call ZA for ease, reached out to historians and merchants to try and locate them (no one knew what they were up to at this point and what the orbs were intended for). Once all 3 had been found, the finders were told to bring them to a certain location at a specific time. At this point, ZA was at the temple of Sinnoh in the center of a region-wide weapon, and they fired.

Each third of the weapon created a crater, the three lakes. I made this shitty little representation like 3 weeks ago DHFJDKFK it's based off my vague memories of the nationwide transmutation circle from watching fma like 6 years ago

The weapon tore open a massive rift that kinda threw everything to shit, like having a spacetime distortion covering all of Hisui. This is the threat that the ancient hero mentioned in-game solved (I like the theory that the hero is Alder <3 so he was dragged in by the distortion like Ingo was, just. A couple thousand years earlier)

As for the people who delivered the orbs and were caught up in the blast -- idk who the lustrous globe holder was tbh, maybe I'll make them another oc if I don't find a character to chuck that lore onto. The one who had the griseous core was Volo; Cogita had the adamant crystal. Like AZ, they gained immortality from proximity to the weapon, but also inherited other elements of their respective pokemon's infinity energy. Cogita can see the past and future; Volo can access the distortion world. The theoretical third character could warp space or teleport.

The weapon firing and ensuing chaos killed off a lot of the Celestica people, and the remaining few had no stability in Hisui and so left for other regions. A few centuries before pla, the diamond and pearl clans' ancestors arrived, taking up the title of Celestica and upkeep of the temple of Sinnoh. I'd like to think that Cogita had passed on some of the ancient stories to them, which is how they know about the rift and hero from the past, as well as Dialga and Palkia (even though things got. A little misconstrued there)

#THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK IVE BEEN WRITING FOR UM. 2 HOURS #rambles #this stupidly convoluted lore is what made volo one of my fav pokemon characters ever #because he lost Everything to someone trying to create a new reality. he was cursed to wander a world where everyone he loved was killed #and everyone he came to love would die before him too #cogita knew what he'd become and wouldn't give him the time of day: she thought her visions of the future were absolute #so he became. very bitter and very good with people #using others to get what he wanted where his own strength failed (although he had plenty of time to become a very formidable trainer)#and not letting himself get attached to them #(he does still get attached to his pokemon though. he's lost a lot throughout the centuries)#eventually he becomes the thing he hates and starts seeking to create his own new reality where everything can just start over #and he can have a home again #he's SO SURE that the plates are the answer!! ZA failed bg using the power of creation by proxy -- he had a direct tie to arceus itself #but the player beats him and so he smokes some weed realizes he's a woman and then she chills out /j #pla #pokemon legends arceus #<- hopefully those wont show up in the main tags after a dozen tags of rambling I just wanna keep track of my own worldbuilding

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