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The Third Moon of The Fifth Planet (An APOD Story)
When they crash-land on the fifth planet of the Galidraan system, it is the dead of night. A desolate and bleakly cold night, the air crisp and frigid, the snow thick on the ground. A trio of large moons hang in the clear, star-scattered sky, beaming the most astounding, vibrant light. The cosmic glow drenches the Nightsister that stands still in the frost, her frame so static and motionless it is as though the harsh weather has frozen her solid.
Zaiya Valessa does not wear clothing appropriate for such conditions. Regrettably, just moments before it all went wrong, she had grown warm in the cockpit, so removed her robe and as usual, draped it over the back of the pilot's chair. So now she feels the cold without it, clad only in her casual travel attire: her black fitted trousers not nearly thick enough to maintain warmth, and though her top is high-necked, it is sleeveless, leaving her strong arms to the mercy of the elements. A chill of a shudder settles throughout her body, and she silently curses herself.
Because both the chair and robe are now in cinders, alongside the rest of the wretched ship.
She curses once again, this time under her breath with a sigh and a roll of her shoulders. The icy breeze tickles her face, the end of her nose prickling from the cold. Alongside the chill of the weather, the aftermath of the crash wracks her body, though she is ultimately uninjured from the collision. The squawking intensity of the starship’s obnoxious alarm system continues to ring in her ears, the impact of her jumping to safety from the falling ship - though slowed by the Force and cushioned by the snow - reverberates up her spine.
And she cannot prevent the frustration she feels, of what caused the crash and how she was unable to prevent it - the irritation of it rattles through her nerves with the chill of the night. She grits her teeth and her jaw tenses.
She saw this coming . She knew it was a possibility, and though the Force led her to believe that this mission would not end in this way, she should have anticipated it. She could have been better prepared. It seems so obvious now, that this was going to happen.
And yet somehow, it still doesn’t.
Even though they were clearly lured into an attack, something continues to feel so off about this entire situation, an unsettling impression that lies thick and sticky in the Force, in her very bones. The words from the strange transmission she received less than a rotation ago echo in her mind, so confusing and intriguing , each word of it precisely committed to her memory.
“This communication is for Dawnsister Zaiya Valessa. Meet with me in the Galidraan system, on the third moon of the fifth planet. Make haste, dear witch. I await your arrival.”
An oddity, for not only was it an ambiguous message from a mysterious source - but she was addressed by her full name, and a rather personal title: Dawnsister . Further confounding, was that it was spoken by an unfamiliar male voice in the native language of her clan. To her knowledge, the ancient tongue of Paecian is now used solely by her kin, the Nightsisters of Dathomir. It is definitely not uttered by men, certainly not spoken by the Nightbrothers, as they are permitted only to speak Zabraki. And yet only the Brothers know of her as Dawnsister …
So Zaiya was both startled and alarmed to hear such words from this mystery man, and her intrigue peaked. Who could this be? Such a curious message would not usually bother or tempt her into action. She is experienced enough to know better than to chase a peculiar broadcast she randomly receives, clever enough to immediately understand that this is likely nothing but bait . She has been trained to identify and avoid such obvious attempts of entrapment. The voice could be modified or a translation, after all.
But she could not let it go.
It nagged at her from the moment she first heard it, and she played this thoroughly perplexing message over and over again. She could not deny that she had a distinct fascination with it, a feeling that connected her to it at once. Why the Galidraan system? Why did they not identify themselves? How did they even send this message to her? She somehow knew that whoever did transmit it needed her, whether their intentions were for ill or otherwise. And she felt a pull in her hearts, a magnetism she could not seem to fully identify. Her instincts screamed at her to act.
She had to respond. She had to go.
Zaiya swiftly presented the transmission to Maul, and what followed was a seamless and wordless exchange between them. He was instantly suspicious, just as she was: the message seemed much too personal to her to be some common mercenary or stranger. Yet it also seemed vastly unlikely to be anything other than an attempt to get Zaiya out in the open, to hurt her. And so of course, it slightly disturbed him at first. But he was also able to sense the bizarre and imperative nature of the strange communication, he was able to tap into the extent of the concern that his Lieutenant held over it. At once, he knew that they must further investigate - if only because he trusts her instincts, trusts her connection to the Force.
If only because he trusts her.
And admittedly, he himself was curious, if not slightly amused by the entire predicament.
So the decision was made. Within two hours of receiving the message, they were on their way. Despite the risks and obvious dangers, they were heading to the Galidraan system to find this moon, to aid or confront whoever had sent the jarring message.
Together.
But alas, they were ambushed as soon as they emerged from hyperspace. After valiant piloting efforts from Zaiya to avoid the relentless fire from the multitudes of enemy ships, they were overrun. One fateful shot struck true, then another, again and again until their ship was compromised and they were forced to crash-land on the fifth planet - before they could even attempt to reach the third moon.
It was nothing but a trap after all.
Maul now lingers a few paces behind Zaiya in silence. The heat from the burning wreckage licks at their tattooed skin, warming their backs whilst the ice planet’s sharpness bites at their faces. He feels roiling waves of dismay rippling off of his Lieutenant in the Force, and with a quiet exhale of breath, fixes his eyes on the sky.
“Well…” she says. She crosses her arms and swivels on her heel to face Maul, a scowl of discontent painting her striking face. Maul continues to stand stoic, hands clasped behind his back, sights set on the moons. Zaiya blinks rapidly, her face relaxing as she takes in the sight of him standing there, his gaze now seemingly enamoured of the sky.
Of the stars.
The fire that scorches behind him is a striking and fitting backdrop for a man of his standing, his gravitas and power. Before she can lose herself in the image, he slowly brings his eyes back to her and steps closer. They wander forward in silence, side by side, swiftly moving away from their ship to avoid the inevitable explosion that will surely detonate at any moment. The only sound besides the scraping of metal and the crackle of flame are Zaiya’s sturdy knee high boots as they crunch in the snow with each step.
“It was a trap,” Maul says plainly, stopping only when they reach a safe distance away from the imminent blast.
A pause. “Maybe.”
He looks at her curiously. “Is it not as obvious to you as it is to me?” he asks. After a moment of silence he further adds, “you are frustrated.”
She does not deny it, but she does not agree with him either.
“I am…” she hesitates. “I am conflicted.”
He blinks slowly, then uses a lazy hand to reference the blaze behind him. “You still do not believe that this was a planned attempt on your life?”
She scrunches her nose and looks around. “No. Not exactly.”
He frowns and tilts his head as he looks her over. The kiss of the moon’s illumination accentuates her unique colouring, the trinkets in her braids glimmer in the light, the soft white of her hair appears to almost glow . A state of breathlessness overcomes him, as it is then that he truly notices just how wonderful she looks, draped in the clarity of such serene light. In that moment, Maul cannot help but think how magnificently the radiance suits her.
He steps closer, as though drawn to her, magnetised to her beauty beneath the stars.
Then he really looks at her, closely, stealing a moment to enjoy the sight of her like this. His attention is caught by the elegant swirls of her facial tattoos: he latches on to them greedily. His eyes trail their way over each curve and edge of the markings, intimately admiring the wispy lines, taking in the snowy white of her eyebrows that arch through them. He then traces his gaze across her brow, down to her eyes. One glows green with the smoky mist of the Ichor, framed by a spike of darkened, scarred skin. The other is a glassy blue, deep and oceanic, wide in slight unease, awkwardness . He watches as she blinks rapidly, no doubt jarred and perhaps even uncomfortable by his random and meticulous inspection of her face.
He finds that often, he just wants to look at her. To really see her. Drink in the distinctive features of this woman, the woman who has committed the years of her existence to being at his side, to being with him. Wholly, loyally, unconditionally.
“Sire?” Her voice, a tone and cadence so precious to him - it cuts through his thoughts like his own lightsaber slices through his enemies. “Are you well?”
He only nods.
“This may appear to be a simple trap, and it angers me to have been shot down in this way. But I do believe that there is more to this. I am not prepared to abandon it, not yet. We can easily find a way to the third moon. I know that the transmission is of importance. I am sure.”
“You are sure,” he repeats back to her, the words languid, his distraction obvious.
He admires her persistence, of course, her perseverance. He selfishly wonders if she learned that from him. Part of him hopes so. To endure, to survive, it is as integral to his identity as it is to hers. Do elements of her durability, her insistence to push forward , could any of that come from him?
“Yes. Shall we continue?” she asks.
He enjoys identifying that which she has inherited from him, to witness the parts of him that exist within her, to see how his influence and training aids her in action. He catches glimpses of himself in all different sides of her. He sees it in her form, how she brandishes her weapons, the violent gleam in her eye when she looks upon her enemies. Since she admitted it, he notices himself in every word that falls from her lips, her accent altered purposely to sound more like him. He thinks he even sees himself in the way that she walks, sometimes. Or could that be her, in him? She supported him as he took to walking again, silent and steadfast in the face of his frustrations, aiding him in his gait. If they stride in a similar fashion - is that because he learned it from her? It seems that with each mission, each moment together, they further become one and the same. It is all at once baffling and unbelievable - yet extraordinary.
She is so extraordinary.
“Sire?”
He does not respond to her questioning. His eyes just slip further down her face, to the curve of her nose, the black of her top lip. Zaiya’s pale skin appears even snowier in the clarity of the celestial glow, and so the darkness of her facial tattoos are further emboldened. Striking. Her upper lip holds his attention, plush and inviting, black from the very same ink that stains so much of his own skin. Yet another part of him that she shares. Their skin holds differing patterns of identical pigments, the trauma of their infliction a foundation of this connection between them. He watches in awe as those lips now tug into a hesitant smile under the careful caress of his eyes, as though she senses his reverence for the affinity between them, and is unable to resist being caught up in its raw intensity.
His gloved fingers now graze along her strong jaw, his touch so light as he loses himself in the familiar contours of her face. As he drinks in the image of this woman, vibrant and stubborn, brimming with power, her sheer strength unmatched - he sees her. His Lieutenant, his one true friend, his partner in it all.
His Zaiya.
The blur of the twinkling stars that form a background to her radiance bleed into focus. He feels a smile curve his mouth, because of course , they are beneath the stars together, once again.
Then the ship explodes. A ball of fire violently erupts from the wreckage, a searing burst of heat surges from behind them, a crashing crescendo of tortured durasteel whines as it shoots up into the air and then plummets back to the ground.
Despite the heat, the flaring amber light of the fire, the acrid smell of burning metal, and the screeching smash of the combusting wreckage - they do not flinch. They do not move or even react as the embers of what remains of their ship rain down around them in a gentle sprinkle of flame. He is now so close to her, his other hand slipping around her waist and encouraging her closer.
“Zaiya,” he whispers, her name a ghost of a word from his lips, uttered so quietly, sincerely. Her eye flicks between his as she settles into his embrace, her breath hitching in her throat.
Then he kisses her.
His lips catch hers possessively, the fingers that teased her jaw now cradle her cheek. His kiss is ardent and honest, and he deepens it as she eases into his tenderness. He leans further forward, putting more of his weight into her as she grasps hold of his tunic and loses herself in his lips.
Then she makes that sweet sound, the noise that he so dearly treasures - the delicate little whimper only he can tease from her beautiful mouth.
It incites such satisfaction from Maul to hear such a thing, as does the fervency with which she kisses him back. To feel her relax into his arms, to sense the way that she craves him, it is intoxicating . This hard woman, toughened by the long, unkind years, resilient in the face of all that they have been through. The legendary Siren , turned to softness under the deftness of his lips, his hands, his heat.
The kiss is like a dream for the both of them, but as quickly as they fall into it and indulge in this delightful slice of serenity, it ends. He draws his lips from hers with a gentle intake of breath, the removal of his kiss evoking another of her desperate mewls.
He must exhibit restraint. It is not easy for him - but they have no time for this, not now.
“Come,” he commands into her lips, though he does not pull back just yet. His voice is husky, his breath warm on her face. “We have much to do.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she replies in a whisper, pulling back from him as her composure returns. She hesitates. “The transmission...”
“What of it?”
“I sincerely believe it to be genuine.”
“Very well, Lieutenant,” he says, tilting his head to the skyline.
“The third moon of the fifth planet,” she quotes. “We must go there.”
“Certainly.” He points towards it, a giant half orb in the sky. A pause. “You have a plan to get us there, I assume?”
She clasps her gloved hands together in front of her. “Of course I do,” she replies with a smirk.
“Then please,” he says as he steps aside. “Lead the way.”
She struts past him, returning towards and then past the burning ashes of their starship. He takes a brief moment to watch her as she walks away, to admire her from behind, allowing himself a sweet second to be enticed by the sway of her hips.
And then with a smirk, Lord Maul follows his Lieutenant into the cold darkness of the glacial night.
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