THE BLAZING FIRE

TIAGO FALENSARANO — thirty-five — half-vahla of coruscant — jedi sage we attract what we're READY FOR

[tiagoaflame]

tahirqarn‌:

— HELLFIRE〔korriban /// 3954BBY /// tiago && tahir 〕     content warning — violence / torture

“Don’t speak,” Tahir half-whispered the words, harsh and on edge. He had Tiago by the upper arm, and gave him a steady squeeze, for if he talked too much it might ruin everything.

Mentally, Tahir had to dance around the concept of this rescue– if he allowed himself to look at it too directly, he would lose his nerve for sure. But, as it tends to, time rushed on regardless of whether or not he’d made up his mind. The cells weren’t far from the interrogation rooms, and so it wasn’t a long walk before they turned the corner. The escorting guards split off, and they were left with the single dedicated guard– Tahir had to hold his breath to keep from releasing it in relief. He knew this one.

“Naru,” It took him only a beat to remember the guard’s name. Tahir’s body language had changed completely as they turned the corner, straightening up and easing some of the exhaustion from his posture through sheer force of will. His smile was downright predatory.

“Ah, m– Qarn, I didn’t realize you were back on Korriban,” The man straightened and, upon closer inspection, flushed slightly.

“Only for a few days. You guarding this cell tonight?”

“Yes, sir. It’s… Good to see you.”

“I could say the same,” Without letting go of Tiago, Tahir glanced around the hall and then stepped closer, reaching out to toy with one of the guard’s buttons, “I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly last time we saw each other, but would you be willing to do me a small favor?”

“I… Suppose that depends, sir. What would you need?”

“Just a few moments alone with the prisoner– I have a room set aside, no one will find out. There’s a… Technique I didn’t want to try out in front of you-know-who, if you catch my meaning?” The guard very obviously didn’t, or wasn’t sure if he did, by the way his eyes darted back and forth between Tahir and Tiago. Understandable, Tahir wasn’t sure what he was meant to be implying, either. Regardless, the guard relented after a beat of hesitation.

“I guess a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, as long as you’re sure she won’t find out…”

“You’re a darling,” Tahir pressed his hand significantly to the man’s chest before stepping away, almost snarling, “I’ll make it up to you later.” And dragged Tiago away down the hall, before anything else could be said.

Out of sight around another corner, Tahir dragged Tiago closer and once more told him to stay quiet and close. The man seemed barely conscious as it was, so it didn’t make any sense to extrapolate on the plan.

Force cloaking the both of them all the way to the hangar would’ve been far too much– but cloaking Tiago alone… Tahir could manage.

Given how recently he’d landed, Tahir’s borrowed ship was still set up in the hangar, and holding all of the supplies that he’d been able to gather before being called back to tend to the prisoner. It would do just fine– and the hangar workers barely gave him a second glance as he rushed through, ostensibly alone.

Everything was going far too easily.

By the time Tahir could breathe again, by the time he felt safe enough to drop the force cloaking, they were both aboard his ship and officially spacebound. Just a few more seconds and they would be off of the planet entirely…

They made it. Against all laws of logic.

Though he was barely keeping his eyes open, Tahir managed to get them just out of orbit and set a course for Hutt space. He set the ship to cloak, and turned off all nonessential functions. Having roughly shoved Tiago into the single bed, he was left with the pilot’s chair.

It took him maybe two minutes to fall asleep, there.

Normally, Tiago was a rebellious source of mischief shrouded under an innocent face and coy smiles. When Tahir told him to be quiet, however, Tiago was, staying close as instructed. There was no mischief, no pretending — and while there was no fear still, Tiago was serious, the few times in his life he actually was. If this went wrong, it wouldn't have just been his life, but Tahir's as well, and that was simply unacceptable.

He was laser-focused on Tahir, his mannerisms, the way he addressed and was addressed, the words he used, and the lies that seemingly came easy to him. There was no judgement — Tiago wasn't the kind of person that judged another without all the details, and those were hard to get — it was just an observation. After a lot of stumbling and Tiago refraining himself from holding onto Tahir's shirt — a bit of comfort — his brother managed to get them both off-planet and to relative safety, for now.

The moment Tiago had been shown — shoved into — the bed, he was out like a light. He wouldn't wake again for sixteen hours.

When he did, it was with a sharp gasp, sitting straight in the bed, glancing around, before the events of the past few days came flooding back into his memory. Slowly, Tiago laid back down and, as he curled up into as tight a ball he could manage, let the stress and pain and every emotion that he'd been bottling out. He sobbed, rocking himself, ignoring the soreness of his body from ill-knitted wounds, the bruising inside his own head where they'd cracked and smashed. He let it all out, ten minutes passing, twenty, thirty-five.

An hour later, with his cheeks still wet and his eyes red and puffy, Tiago finally found it in him to leave the bed and be a person. “Tahir?” he called out, his voice still thick with emotion. He moved down the corridor of the unfamiliar ship, fingers brushing lightly along consoles, ignoring the holopad — there was no one for him to contact — until he finally managed to find his way to the front of the ship.

“Tahir,” he breathed when he finally caught sight of his little brother. Without thinking, Tiago gave into the first impulsive urge that rocketed his body forward, and flung himself at Tahir, wrapping his arms around him, face buried in his neck. When he took another deep breath, it was shaking again.

[tiagoaflame]

tahirqarn‌:

— HELLFIRE〔korriban /// 3954BBY /// tiago && tahir 〕

@tahirqarn

content warning — violence / torture

Tahir’s master had very much wanted to go again. 

“I like him,” As always, her voice was just at his ear, breath sending chills down Tahir’s spine, “He’s got some real spirit, don’t you think? And here, I was beginning to think that all Jedi were as spineless as you.” She doesn’t address their prisoner directly, having left him a wordless wreck for his most recent comment. Her smile was simply amused as she observed him over Tahir’s shoulder. 

“Fix him again, dear, I want to see how much fun we can get out of our new toy,” Her fingers tapped out a bored pattern against the back of Tahir’s neck, “And how far your little tricks can stretch. If he’s feeling more cooperative when I come back, there may be a reward in it for you. If he gives into the Dark, there definitely will be.” And with that, as with the previous times, she stepped out of the room to leave her apprentice alone with their latest captive. 

Tahir was under no illusions about their safety. 

This was a test. As most things were– a test of loyalty. Somehow, they were being watched. Tahir had yet to admit to his connection with the prisoner, but he had never been as deceptive as his master was perceptive. As with every previous test, she would have spotted the flicker of heartbreak across his face no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“Your bleeding heart is going to get you killed,” She had told him, once, as though it was simply a fact of nature. As though she wouldn’t be the one holding the blade. 

“You’re a fool,” Tahir whispered, almost spat, as he got to his knees once more. It was the first time he had spoken, having resisted all of Tiago’s former babbling, but his control was wearing thin. He couldn’t tell whether he was talking to himself or his old friend. 

Tahir’s healing wasn’t quite the gentle glow of a Jedi– it was life, harsh and vibrant and eager. It scarred, almost unavoidably, and there had been more than one occasion where his experiments had gone horribly wrong. Bones forever locked into the wrong position, organs scarring over too much to work any further, pain refusing to go away. 

It scared him that healing Tiago was so much easier. That those emotions (he refused to acknowledge what they were) which urged the Force to knit flesh and revive heartbeats came to him so much easier when it was someone he knew. He didn’t want to think that he was capable of gentleness like this, didn’t want to see how Tiago’s wounds were barely even scarring under his hands. 

“If your friends have been urging you to kill me,” Tahir’s voice was barely above a breath as he worked, hands shaking despite himself, “You ought to listen to them. My master might be impressed enough to give you a head start.” That wasn’t the only option, of course. 

Tahir was nearly spent. Healing always took more out of him than anything else, and his legs were liquid as it was. Even his master would be able to see that he couldn’t go any further that night, and they would be forced to break and continue the following day. 

It was a foolish plan, half baked and bound to fail, but Tahir didn’t dare to think about it any longer than necessary. If he did, his master would surely see it on his face. The transition between the interrogation rooms and the dungeon would be the moment to make his move. 

“If you insist on continuing your foolishness, however,” He hissed, almost against his own will, as Tiago’s skin finished knitting itself under his hands, “Then hold on for just a little while longer.” 

Murder and betrayal had been easy enough for him, the decisions of a moment, but this extended torture… He couldn’t take it. Not as witness. Not with so little left to lose. 

As Tiago sat up from where he'd been on the floor, he winced. Healed, yes, but it was wrong in some places; Tiago glanced down at himself as the other Sith stepped in again, slowly brushing his fingers across a bit of scarring Tahir's hands had left on him. It was still impressive, sure, but the technique was crude and forceful, less like a suture and more like pressing a hot white piece of metal against an open wound. It solved the problem, but it wasn't preferred.

He hadn't been paying attention, his mind drifting in and out of focus in a manner that was slightly frustrating — Tiago didn't know if it was exhaustion or the result of… the past few days — but before he knew, he was hauled up to unsteady feet, and escorted out with guards and Tahir in tow.

Tiago glanced at Tahir. Once, twice, three times within a minute, his head lowered, his mind still cloudy — his normal energy level had simmered to the lowest his brother would've ever experienced him. He didn't know what Tahir had meant with his previous words. Was it a threat? A promise of… something? No one was coming for him, Tiago know, because he wasn't supposed to be here.

The sounds their feet made as they walked down the hallway reverberated in his head and rang his ears a little in an uncomfortable manner. A glance towards the slightly younger man again. “Tahir?” The way it was uttered, there was no indication of a question to follow, rather than it being the question itself. What are you doing? What did you mean? What are you planning?

[tiagoaflame]

— HELLFIRE〔korriban /// 3954BBY /// tiago && tahir 〕

@tahirqarn

content warning — violence / torture

Tearing, red, breaking, ripping, dark. With every visit, Tiago's head was forced into the ocean of Dark, holding his breath until his lungs burned and he involuntarily inhaled all it had to give. It rolled off him, as easily as Light did, making spikes of the Force within him, which shot out viciously to defend itself and its host. The moment the pain stopped, the red lifted, and the Dark ebbed as quickly as it had flooded.

Every time, the same thing happened — they pushed and Tiago's Force followed where they wanted it to be without issue, without fight. As they stopped pushing, his Force snapped back to its origin. The Jedi had tried, over years, by scolding, disapproving looks, separating him from his peers and friends, to push and keep his Force Light-sided, and they too had failed just like these Sith tearing at his body and mind did.

The doors opened, again, and two pairs of feet sounded towards where he'd been kept. No words when he was dropped into that ocean yet again, tearing, ripping, screaming — his screaming. Lashing out in anger in vain until it stopped again when his body was on the edge. Hands pressed to his chest and knitted burnt flesh and broken bones with warmth, and Tiago, breathing hard, tears and blood staining his cheeks, opened his eyes to look at his brother.

If you kill him, you could escape, a voice whispered through his head, around his right ear. “No,” he breathed out, still looking at Tahir, less focused on what he was doing, however impressive, than on his face, “he's my brother.” A cough caught his breath as his body was mended under warm, familiar — yet unfamiliar — hands. This is his doing, kill him. A pained laugh bubbled from his lips, followed by a wince. “It's not. Not at all.”

When his body — body only — was shaped back into its former state, hands left him again, fresh to restart the cycle of drowning and undrowning, ebbing and flooding his Force to the edges of his being's capabilities. Tiago, from where he lay, caught the eyes of the woman with Tahir, and in an act of defiance, fueled by the warmth of his brother's Force still lingering throughout his being, Tiago gave her a small, reckless grin. “You want to go again?”

[siderealrpg]

A whirlwind of emotions. That’s what had been left on the steps of the Coruscant Temple. A five-year-old with a grin as bright as the star around which Coruscant orbited, it was only the start of a long road of sliding across the spectrum of the Force. The masters of the temple realised that he needed to be taught the tenants of the Order, the ways of the Jedi, as quickly as they could, because young as he was, he was boisterous and his Force untamed, prone to Dark influences if left unchecked. For years, they tried. For years, Tiago resisted — not by any conscious means, rather than that was simply not something he was capable of. He was a boy quick to smile, quicker to hug, and laugh, his emotions bright as his grin. He was heartfelt, fervent, a roaring flame amidst carefully kept embers. They suspected he might fall one day, but not when.

By the time he was twelve, they had all but given up. Their effort to calm down the fire within him was all for naught, but he was a diligent student in the Force, and just as much in the martial aspects of his training. Things took a turn when Tiago discovered he could make fire for the first time — thus started years of correcting his fellow vahla friend’s missteps by… simply setting his clothes on fire. It never went further than that, usually, and it was also never malicious, but it was problematic.

Throughout his studies, Tiago seemed to effortlessly glide from Light to a dip into the Dark as though taking swim in a pool, heaving himself out again without any hooks digging into him. Most days, his fluctuating was less extreme, and he was firmly rooted in the Grey. For Tiago, it wasn’t about balance. Balance wasn’t something particularly on his mind. He was an emotional person and it was his strength, and to undo that was to undo him. His aptitude for healing came from his deep empathy, his capacity for statis from his stubbornness, and his propensity for pyrokinesis from his joy for life (and fire). Tempering his emotions, his being, was to temper his ability to interact with the Force, and subconsciously Tiago had always fought against it.

When he started his training as a sage, they thought — hoped — it might even him out, if time hadn’t. It didn’t. In training, Tiago displayed a capability for both Light and Dark uses of the Force, and while the latter was never used particularly destructive, without the intent to kill, it was still enough to alarm. He would be kept an eye on, and, when his training was concluded, sent away on mission after mission. Out of sight, out of mind. And yet he always came back, a bit beaten, a bit bruised; some days the fire inside him had simmered to a small campfire, and other times it was roaring, bordering on destructive.

Through it all, he always remained in contact with his friends. Until two of his friends disappeared without a word. Out of courtesy, Tiago went to the council, requesting that he be sent after them to see what happened to them, concerned by the growing unrest. They suggested it was best he didn’t. Ultimately, Tiago agreed with them, and then went anyway.

「 Written by Ghost. 」