The corpse pitched forward, hitting the floor with a low meaty thud. Above him, the bloody liquid of his super-heated entrails sprayed outward, cloudy droplets floating almost weightless and then, ever so gently, the mist began to drift down, glazing all in greasy-brown. The coppery taste of death was everywhere.

And, for just a moment, it was quiet.

One shuddering breath broke through the wall of stunned silence as Qui-Gon Jinn stared at the carcass. The battle had been short, tainted with crimson corruption and completely unexpected. And yet he remembered it all...

It should not have happened, not like this.

When Jinn and his Padawan first arrived, Crion duCrion, Absolute Ruler of the First House and Monarch of the Telosian people, had met them with warm welcome, all bureaucrat's smiles and cooperation. He made it known that he was ready to do whatever was necessary to end the destructive conflict between the Rebel Coalition and the government of Telos.

That war had been savage, long-standing and exceptionally costly in both credits and lives. The Treasury was depleted; the regime was on the verge of collapse. And the grisly death of untold numbers and the rabid environmental catastrophes that followed the grappling of the power-mad brigands had been devastating. But when the conflict escalated beyond even the Senate's willful blindness, the Republic had bowed to the inevitable and finally sent the Jedi to investigate. Accepting the reality of intervention, duCrion, with much elaborate fanfare, welcomed them with open arms.

It seemed then that the city was alive with hope. When the Monarch moved out onto the balcony and bowed to the representatives, the crowds cheered wildly. Everywhere was the sound of blaring trumpets and the sweet song of flutes, the buildings festooned with expensive garlands of white caleotrope and the exotic fragrance of tapava petals, the melodies of deliverance filling the air. And the Ruler of Telos was ever grandiose in his gestures of friendship.

Standing there before the milling crowds, at first duCrion only glanced at the tall, black-haired apprentice. But he gave no sign of recognition. After all, Xanatos duCrion had been taken more than 20 years ago to be raised in the Jedi Order and it was not likely that he would ever see his son again.

But when he was finally introduced, the politician's smile turned genuine, then hungry for a fleeting instant before oiling back into polite. Bowing with a formal sweep of his hand, all courtier-gallant, he welcomed the Jedi but then, deliberately, unexpectedly, he had grabbed Xanatos and enveloped him in a showy hug. The people roared with delight. A moment later, he let Xani go but continued to whisper sweet words of welcome and joyous family bonds to the young Learner. As Jinn frowned with concern and silence, they were swept into the opulent palace.

After that, it was all honeyed phrases and sumptuous feasts. Greasy bureaucrats and voluptuous women courted their opinion, flattering and cajoling them to side with duCrion's increasingly savage war.

With each day, there were more expensive gifts offered to the Jedi, trinkets from across the Galaxy to tantalize the eye and please the palate. Then further temptations: the use of women for their pleasure, credits enough to satisfy even the most elaborate of desires, and above all, power. Power over the lives of others, power to control, to corrupt, to brutalize at their whim. They all came with their subtle and not so subtle price - turning a blind eye to duCrion's plans for the total obliteration of the Rebel forces.

It had sickened Jinn. The maliciousness that always accompanied the offers of pleasure and pain, the ruthless use of people for the gain of a few, the casual inhumanity with which they were offered, was almost too much to bear.

However, Xanatos seemed to be overwhelmed by it all - the wealth, the women, power that could used for many things. Qui-Gon had known that he should have spent more time with his Padawan, discussing the potential for corruption, but he was deep in mission imperatives with negotiations and study, working far into the night and usually exhausted by the time he reached their quarters.

Besides, Xani was about to take his Trials. If his apprentice could not handle something this simple, he was not ready for the missions he would be assigned as a lone Knight. So Qui-Gon stepped back and allowed him to make his own choices. He was confident that his apprentice would make the right ones. After all, he was brilliant, a powerful and skilled Force-sensitive, and totally committed to the Jedi Order. He had an extraordinary future ahead of him. Of that, Qui-Gon was very certain.

Yet he continued to be concerned at the amount of time his young Padawan spent with duCrion. It bubbled beneath the surface, much like a wound that continued to fester under the healed flesh. It pulled at his subconscious. It was a subtle warning that refused to be ignored.

But Qui-Gon had put the doubt aside. He was determined to finish this mission as quickly as he could and he knew that Xani would do the right thing, when all was said and done. Besides, there was much to do...

He had hoped that he would be able to turn this war into a peaceful settlement with justice for all the inhabitants of Telos. And somehow coerce duCrion into returning the Treasury's funds that Qui-Gon had discovered were funneled into the Monarch's own private accounts...

But it was not to be.

Finally, after weeks of negotiations, Qui-Gon had had enough. With his Padawan off on a self-appointed fact-finding mission, he set up a meeting with just the two of them, the Jedi Master and the Ruler of Telos, in duCrion's private office.

He stood, looking about him as he waited for duCrion to appear. The richly-appointed marlwood walls and ornate gilded carvings of mythological creatures gave off the aura of old decay and excess. And the monumental fireplace with its failed attempt at grandeur and obvious indifference to taste that so characterized the rest of the palace spoke of a torrent of credits - Treasury money that should have been spent on the people of Telos. Qui-Gon felt chilled. Even the cheerful blaze singing wood music could not warm the space. Or perhaps it was the owner of all this wealth that was stealing life from the very air.

Ignoring the stilted opulence around him, Jinn began to discuss his conclusions and possible options as soon as they were alone. He had hoped to stave off the complete collapse of the negotiations and try one last time to push the tyrant into a just settlement. But duCrion would have none of it. A derisive half-smile played across his autocratic face as Qui-Gon spoke. Jinn's demands, it seemed, had only produced amusement and an absurd kind of contempt for the Jedi and his own dying people.

As Crion stood by the roaring fire, he barely glanced at the settlement conditions before he began to snicker. His sapphire eyes were hard with satisfaction and secrets, glittering with the scorn of one who had planned far ahead for such foolishness and was now seeing it play out.

"You're too late, Jinn. Your pathetic attempts at reconciliation have only aided me in my war against the rebel scum."

Qui-Gon stilled at that. Seeing the traitorous triumph in duCrion's face, an icy sense of impending disaster frosted across his skin. With a shivering rumble of apprehension, he breathed disquiet, "What have you done?"

The man looked at him as if he were some filthy beggar from the streets - Jedi rabble in his worn homespuns. He brushed at his own overtunic as if to rid himself of such trash; the coat was ablaze in finely-cut gems and encrusted embroidery blinking in the firelight and it only emphasized his place in the grand scheme of things - absolute Ruler of Telos. A froth of lace lay at his wattled throat.

With supreme indifference, duCrion replied, "More than you ever would with all your talk of balance and the common good."

Smiling, enjoying the discomfort and increasing alarm in the Jedi's eyes, he drawled, "I've ended the war with your unwitting help."

The air thickened with concern. "Explain."

"Really Jinn, you should know better. It was never about the rights of the people. It was about power. Absolute power. Over everything in my domain." His hand began to play with the fireplace mantle, smoothing over the elaborately-carved stone as though caressing a lover or stolen treasure. The ruthless smile grew rancor-ominous. "And I have the power. Over those insignificant fools that trusted me... and over my own son."

"Xani? What does my Padawan have to do with this?" Sharp, worried, the Jedi's voice carried all of his apprehension. The Force seemed to sing with discord.

"Your Padawan?" Flicking his fingers across an imagined speck of dirt in the marble design, he gave a bark of derisive laughter. "He is mine, Jedi. To do with as I see fit."

Blue eyes narrowed in disgust. "He is a member of the Jedi Order. He is none of yours."

The Ruler turned suddenly, folding his arms across his chest in marked contempt. "He is a duCrion. He was made to rule. Power, women, credits. You forbid him all these things but now he's tasted it. Tasted the power. He would deny it but I've seen his eyes. He wants more than the Jedi can give him."

"You are lying, duCrion."

"Am I? Have you seen him lately?' Leaning against the exquisite stony carvings, his tunic brilliant in the flickering light, his smile widened with victory. "He's been helping me. Did you know that?"

Jinn lowered his eyes in thought, frowned with growing realization that he did not know where his apprentice was at the moment or what he might be doing.

But duCrion just snorted at the sight. "No. Of course, you didn't."

He stared to saunter towards the stunned Jinn. "He's helping me because I am his father. And because the love my son bears for me."

Another grating snicker. "You Jedi have played right into my hands. Forbidding attachment is incredibly naive. It made my son long for a father figure, a guiding light to help him see how the universe really works. And I showed him. Oh, yes, I showed him..."

He stopped next to the Master and stared into the troubled eyes. "Xanatos is arrogant, of course. He is a duCrion after all. And I'll grant you that you have taught him well the uses of power. But the young fool needed a father's guidance almost as much as he needs air." Shrugging his disdain, he muttered, "Even more than credits..."

"Xani would never help you." The icy chill of a Jedi's bludgeoning ire swept the room.

But duCrion did not notice. He was too busy gloating, the smooth condescending words flowing, base coin from a treasure chest. "Oh, but he has. Even now, he has gone to make final preparations. One last battle and the rebels will be crushed."

Jinn's protests of "Not Xani." fell on deaf ears. The Ruler of Telos was enjoying this too much to care what a mere Jedi would say. "How staunchly you defend him."

Thrusting his sneering face into Qui-Gon's vision, duCrion began to chuckle, twisting the poisoned words like a frenzy of razored knives rending bloodied flesh. "You have no idea how easy it was to corrupt his bright promise. He needed someone to show him how to use power for his own ends. All under the guise of a loving parent, of course. Someone who would love him without reservation. As you do not."

"I do lo.." He could not say it, not to this consummate manipulator who even now was trying to pillage his own people for the obscenity of control and credits. Frowning with thunderous indignation, he stepped back sharply and stared at the power-hungry ruler. Loathing what he saw, his dark eyes hardened to grey durasteel.

"The Code is clear. Attachment is forbidden by the Jedi Order and my Padawan is well aware of such strictures. And accepts them."

But, even as he was growling out the standards by which all Jedi were expected to follow and obey, Qui-Gon could feel the half-truth lodging in his gut. A flash of regret and acceptance of what he had known all along. He could not deny it. The Code may have been enforced for a thousand years but Xanatos was the son of his heart. And he would damned to an eternity of regret if he left his Padawan to this tyrant.

"Ah... see, you cannot admit it." duCrion clapped his hands thrice, one slap of flesh against another in slow derision, his sapphire eyes glowing with contempt. "You make it so easy to manipulate the boy. He believes that he is doing the right thing even now, the young fool."

Moving to his desk, the Absolute Ruler of Telos looked down at his papers, then brushed at the delicate lace cravat as if he was discussing tea ceremonials with a pauper and feared contamination. The derision in his voice was absolute and diamond-clear. "He thinks I love him, you know. Oh, he is useful for ferreting out my enemies with that Force magic of his but love... he's a duCrion. He should know better." His eyes smirked his scorn.

"I will not allow you to hurt him like this." Qui-Gon's fury was rising. It was obvious that this man had manipulated the war for his own ends and now to include Xanatos in that conflict was beyond belief. He stepped closer, his eyes cobalt fire as he stared at duCrion.

In that moment, duCrion seemed to realize that he might have gone too far, scorning the obvious regard that the Jedi had for Xanatos. But his face hardened with stubborn tenacity. After all, he was Monarch, not some simpleton that could be shouted down. "Allow it? He is already mine." He tried to push the Jedi aside, "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I have a war to win."

But Qui-Gon would not be ignored. He towered over the man, willing him to remain. "You have used a Jedi to further your own ends."

Lip curling slightly in distaste, duCrion backed up as if to avoid getting dirtied. Blindly reaching for a handhold, he pulled himself closer to the back of the lovely, ornate desk, trying to put some distance between him and the Jedi. "Why do you think you are still here if not to act as a diversion?"

The Jedi's eyes flashed deepest shadow; his voice plummeted into ice and inky night. "You used our presence as Senate's representatives to make the Rebel Coalition think that they were safe enough to negotiate. So that they would come out of hiding. These last weeks..... it was all a trap."

"That is how the game is played, Jedi. I would think you would know that by now."

Jinn was stone and steel. "Monarch, I will overlook your blatant attempt at suborning my Padawan. He is of age and may choose to stay or leave the Jedi at his own discretion."

He leaned forward, staring directly into the wary sapphire eyes of the Absolute Ruler of Telos. There would be no mistake in this. "But as for the rest, I cannot. Crion duCrion, as Republic Representative to the Telosian Government, I arrest you for the theft of the planetary treasury for your own gain, for attempted bribery of a Republic official, for the deliberate murder of thirty-five innocents in your employ, the further murder of several thousand of your planet's citizens in a genocidal war of your choosing. The Republic Senate will decide if there are to be other charges."

While Jinn was talking, duCrion was angrily sputtering his excuses, his furious face turning chalky and then crimson as he fumbled further back from the Jedi. His hands were active too, seeking something. "You won't get away with this. I have friends in high places."

Qui-Gon's frown was deep and cutting, his face set in cold durasteel. "You see, duCrion, you are not the only one who has been busy. While you were trying to tempt my Padawan into joining you, I was uncovering the deceits and traitorous actions of a murderer and thief."

"You have no proof."

The slightest smile of satisfaction flicked across Jinn's face before it morphed back into stone. "Oh, but I do. A Jedi would never arrest someone without evidence, especially one of your stature." He reached for duCrion, bringing out a set of stun-cuffs. "You will have ample opportunity to contact your solicitor."

"You have no right." The panicked eyes grew angry, desperate as he looked away, searching for something among the florid imprints on his desk. But the Jedi Master was there first.

Jinn grabbed duCrion's arm, drawing his hand down in an attempt to set one stun-cuff on the lace-covered wrist. The Monarch was furious, struggling in earnest, his tunic pulling this way and that, fine-gold embroidery fraying fast as he tried to wrestle himself free. But Jinn only tightened his grip. "Let me go, Jedi."

"I cannot." It was said so calmly that duCrion stilled for a moment and then went mad, kicking and shrieking at the Jedi, grasping at his arm even as the manacle clicked into place. He pulled backwards, throwing all his weight toward the ornate floral design and pressed. With that, a hidden compartment opened and an array of vibroshivs and other weapons were evident. The Monarch reached for the blaster but his hand slipped and instead, a long shiv began to hum in his fingers.

He thrust the vibrating blade towards the Jedi, stabbing blindly in fury. Blood blossomed then on the Jedi's sleeve even as Qui-Gon backpedaled away, letting the madman go. He realized that he had little room to maneuver near the desk. And he did not want to hurt the Ruler, only bring him to justice. But with the sharpened knife flailing in the air, he needed to be cautious. Moving into a clear space for battle, he pulled out his lightsaber and ignited it. He hoped that would be enough to bring duCrion to his senses.

It did not. Instead, the Ruler screamed, the frenzied cry of blood-lust echoing off the rich walls and carved statuary. As duCrion leapt toward the Jedi, vibroshiv sweeping across the space in a fury, Jinn could do nothing but defend himself. Stepping back, he parried one last time, slicing through the vibroshiv, thinking it was over.

With incredible speed, duCrion turned the broken weapon toward Qui-Gon and swung recklessly. But his balance was off. As he jerked forward, the elaborate lace nestled at his wrist caught on the desk edge and he was pulled sideways. Now stumbling wildly, he fell directly into the path of the lightsaber and, in an instant of light and heat and torment, the green blade thrust through his body, impaling him. He screamed then, tearing at his stomach in a vain attempt at holding in his entrails even as he collapsed to the floor. For a few moments, he grunted in searing agony. Gagging on his own blood, he glared one last desperate entreaty at his killer and died.

The Force wailed its regret.

Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master and Republic Representative to the people of Telos in their hour of need, stood there, blinking in disbelief. He had not been fast enough to prevent this, not fast enough to turn off his blade, not fast enough. With one shuddering breath, he stared at the smoldering corpse.

He did not see the hearth's firelight shimmering rich color into the room, bright flickers dancing across the ornate walls and lavish furnishings. Nor hear the merry sizzle-pop music of the cheerful blaze, singing of life and wealth and conversation. Nor smell the comfort of woodsmoke teasing him.

He only gazed at the sprawled body, one lifeless hand flung wide as if in entreaty, the other clutched at cooked guts.

It was a tragic end to the duCrion's reign of terror. But Qui-Gon knew it was not over. There would be explanations and a full inquiry into the demise of the Telosian Ruler before all was said and done.

And, if the man was telling the truth, his apprentice might react badly to his father's death, even take duCrion's side in all this. ... unless Jinn could get to him first and explain.

With that very thought hounding his conscience, he turned toward the door just as his Padawan, Xanatos duCrion, hurried into the room.

"Father, I...."

The young man stopped short. Sapphire eyes blackened with shock as he stared at the sprawled corpse. It seemed almost as if Xanatos were some beautiful, colorless statue, bled white, frozen in the trembling moment. Or was it the Padawan that was trembling? Only the chest rising and falling and the gentle sway of his black braid told of life in that pallid form.

His gaze moved upward, meeting those of his mentor. But there were no questions, no condemnation, only bewilderment. Or horror.

Xan looked down again at the body. In the firelight, the tunic's embroidery was gilded flame, full of rich color; the flutters of lace drifted in the currents of heated air. One still hand had slumped close to the fire and began to heat slightly, the gems on his Monarch's ring glittering red. And everywhere was the greasy brown of spilled blood.

Xanatos moved as lightening would to ground, without thought. Shoving past Qui-Gon, he knelt down beside the cooling body. His hands gently skimmed the cauterized wound. Then a sharp sound of denial caught in his throat as he pulled the Force into his grasp and outward again, trying desperately to revive a dead man.

An ragged voice, hoarse and low, whispered, "Father?" But there was no answer.

It was too late.

When it became clear that he could do nothing else, the Padawan seemed to sink into himself, kneeling there as he gazed silently at the corpse. Qui-Gon let the young man have his moment of grief. It was only fitting that someone mourn the tyrant's passing but when he put a sympathetic hand on Xan's shoulder in a show of support, it was quickly wrenched away.

"What have you done?" Rough, biting, he spat the question.

The Jedi Master was taken aback by the clear accusation in his Padawan's tone. Frowning at the disquiet now slithering under his skin, he explained gently, "It was an accident, Xani. He fell into the saber just as I was about to disengage it."

When the young man said nothing else, Qui-Gon continued, "I'm so sorry, Padawan. He died almost immediately. There was nothing I could do."

Almost choking in disbelief, Xanatos drew back, "An accident, you?! It's not possible."

"Believe me, Xani. Even Masters make mistakes." Qui-Gon was beginning to worry about his reaction; his apprentice should have understood his motivations well enough to know that it could have been nothing but an accident. After all, they had been a team for over a decade. Surely...

His Padawan looked up at that, his sapphire eyes so like his father's. "You never do. Make mistakes? The Perfect Master would never admit to ..."

"Xanatos!"

Rising, he stalked over to Qui-Gon, Xan's face pale with incomprehension and anger and pain. "He warned me.. he warned me about your jealousy. Said you were envious of him, of our connection as father and son." He stared unblinking at his father's body and then glared condemnation at his Master. "I told him he was wrong. I defended you."

Qui-Gon could feel his outrage in the Force, almost see the smoky chaotic currents beginning to sink into his flesh. But there was remorse, too. It was clawing at him like a ravenous gundark.

"Padawan, think about what you are saying. He has been planning this all along."

"Planning this?!?" Astonishment seized the air. Xan stepped back and began pacing, clenched hands restless at his side, bone and sinew white against the fair skin, stark anxiety. His whole body thrummed with shadowed emotion.

Refusing to look at his Master, Xan spat out, "He kept telling me that he was afraid of you. That you might go after him, accuse him of theft or murder, anything to keep him away from me. Maybe even hurt him in some way. But he kept reassuring me that he was willing to brave your anger."

Xan stopped then, his sapphire eyes unfocused as he stared off into some otherworldly place. For just a moment, he looked vulnerable and alone... and troubled about something still unspoken. But, then as his gaze fell upon his dead father, his face hardened into stone.

"For his son and heir, he said. He loved me enough to chance getting hurt. But I told him that you would never harm him. Damn it, I believed in you."

Qui-Gon began to be truly alarmed. He had never seen his apprentice so off-balance, so angry. He had always been stubborn and a bit arrogant to others but never like this, never so filled with hostility toward his own Master. And the Force was pulsing red and black as demon darkness hovered there, waiting to be called. Qui-Gon knew he needed to calm his Padawan and soon.

"Xani, he was lying. He was using you to fulfill his own ends."

But the remark only maddened Xanatos further. He frowned his denial and snarled out. "No. I would have known if he had. Or do you think so little of me then?" He turned his head sharply away, ignoring his Master, and half-muttered. "No, he wouldn't lie. Not to his own son."

"Padawan..."

The black braid of Xan's station swung free as he leaned into his hands, palms hard against his skin, trying to ease the pain there. There was a ragged breath echoing in the ornate space and then another as the Padawan attempted to pull in his anger. The unseen shadows retreated reluctantly.

But only for an instant. As he lifted his eyes toward Qui-Gon, his glance slid across his father's lifeless body, even now sprawled before the cheerful fire. There was curdled blood everywhere. The corpse lay in a pool of it, his glittering clothes soaked in gore. But as Xan looked up again, he could see that his own Master was spattered with fine droplets of slimy brown.

He let out a quick choking sound of fury and guilt. "Oh, Force help me. I kept reassuring him, telling him how wonderful you were as my Master. I never thought, I never dreamed that you would murder him."

"I didn't..."

But Xan kept on talking as if there had been no interruption. "Every day, he begged me to leave the Jedi. He thought I would be safer here. On Telos. I would have wealth, power, position. Said I deserved it. That I had the blood and heart and spirit of a king."

The Master hurried to remind Xanatos that the Order did not keep those unwilling. "You know that you could always leave if that is your wish. But I don't want you to go. You have a..."

Xanatos snarled back, "I told my father that I was a Jedi. That we were a team. That you did not hold me back from the things that mattered. That you cared about me. But I guess I was wrong."

Qui-Gon knew that he had to reassure the Padawan of his affection, Code be damned. The son of his heart must be made to see that he could be loved by more than just a tie of blood. Before it was too late.

"Xani, I do care. Believe me when I..."

The bitter laugh broke through all that. Caustic and corrosive, it ate at the link between the two as Xan snarled, "Believe you? How can I with my father's blood on your hands? You murdered him."

Qui-Gon realized that this must end soon before all was lost. Before Xan was lost to him. But his heart's fear instead drove him to snap back, "Until this moment, I never believed you could be such a fool. That lying hypocrite was using you."

If Xan was angry before with the shadows of the dark clawing at his skin, now it was pitch-black, oozing tar and burrowing into the very center of his spirit. He began to shout, the voice reaching a fever-pitch. And as he was speaking, he stalked closer, hands rising in fury.

"Using me? As you do every day? As the Order does with their demands and their rules and their missions? No love, no attachment, nothing but duty. Giving everything and getting nothing in return? Nothing but more pain, more duty, more death. Until you are sprawled out on the cold hard floor with your guts spilling out."

Qui-Gon stepped back, his shoulder hitting the fireplace mantle with a dull thud. He spoke softly, trying to pull back on the emotions of the moment. "Xan, you are distraught."

But Xanatos would not be placated. Instead, he hissed out, "No, I am finally seeing things clearly for the first time, Master."

With that, he gave a wild cry and swung his fist upward, putting all the anger and loss into the punch. A sharp crack as his hand connected with Qui-Gon's astonished face and suddenly there was a spray of red pouring down the Jedi's tunic.

With incredible speed, Qui-Gon shoved his apprentice away. Xanatos flailed backwards, tripping over his father's cooling corpse, and toppled to the ground. Laying there, one hand slipping in congealed gore, he blinked in astonishment - at his Master's broken nose even now swelling with pain and blood, at his father's body sprawled lifeless on the slick floor, at the slime on his hand.

Jinn stood quietly, trying to staunch the flow of blood with one sleeve of his tunic, all the while watching Xanatos with studied care. He knew that he must be prepared for anything but what happened next was up to his young Learner and the choices he would make. There could be no going back, only forward. No matter how much he would wish it otherwise.

Speaking as if to a troubled child, Qui-Gon murmured, "Xani, you are confused about your father. When we return to the Temple, I will help you to understand what has happened here...."

And something broke in the Padawan. He began to wipe his fingers over and over again on his tunics, brown filth smearing across the fabric, trying to get them clean. And then he looked down again at the blood-covered body. "Father, you were right. Force help me, you were right about him. How could I have been so blind?"

As Qui-Gon asked "What do you mean?", Xanatos ignored him, staring for a moment at the unmoving corpse and then looking down the line of arm to the hand. On one finger was a glowing Corusca Signet ring, the mark of a Telosian king. It was his now.

He reached out and tugged at the gold band, the cool flesh resisting. When it was obvious that it would not be removed easily, Xan finally let go. Staring at the ring, he nodded to himself and then, without a single glance to his vigilant and ever-more concerned Master, he pulled out his lightsaber and turned it on. Murmuring quietly, he said, "I'm sorry, Father. I couldn't protect you in life. But I honor you in death."

One hasty flick of the searing light cut through the metal, a brief tug and the broken ring sprang free. But Xan wasn't fast enough and the jewelry rolled into the puddle of his father's blood. He tossed his saber aside, gingerly picking up the jeweled band. But, with bitter irony, the Signet ring was slick in Xan's shaking hand and it slid through his fingers into the blaze. Under the merry crackle of burning firesong, a soft chime sounded as the golden circle began to heat.

Xanatos quickly ripped the fine embroidery still fluttering about duCrion's wrist and grabbed at the scorching metal. The heat was intense. Xan feared the Signet ring would melt before he could rescue it but his determination won through and soon it was nestled in the ruined lace.

Staring down at the broken circle of heated metal, he began to smile, a half-crazed grin as he pulled it up close. A way to remember this day in his skin as well as his heart.

He glanced up at his Master, their gazes locked in misunderstanding and loss, as Xan deliberately brought the ring to his cheek and pressed in. Hard.

Qui-Gon shouted, "No" but it was too late. The smell of burning meat overpowered the quiet note of wood smoke and the iron tang of dried blood. Xan's agonized gasp spoke of pain and power and, most of all, retribution. But his continued press of heated metal to ever-charring flesh spoke of a deeper purpose - that a scar was nothing to the tortured enjoyment of watching his Master's eyes fill with horror; it was agony and it felt good.

And, finally, it was done. The skin was melting, liquid under the now-cooling ring, and the flesh wept. But the scar would take. Smiling painfully, Xanatos duCrion looked down at the brown-encrusted ring for a moment and then thrust it into some hidden fastness of his tunics.

He scrambled up, ragged skin tugging at the painful wound and stood before the older Jedi. Hoarse with trying to keep from shouting in agony as the broken circle had seared into his cheek, Xanatos rasped, "Now, Master, I am no longer confused. But we are finished, now and forever. I renounce the ..."

duCrion was not the only one who was hoarse from despair. Qui-Gon quickly interrupted, "Xan, please don't do this."

Reaching out with one hesitant hand, he hoped to make Xani understand that all was not lost, that there was more to this than the lies he had been told. But the young man jerked away, reacting as if he had been smeared with filth. Growling his bitter animosity, he snapped, "Don't touch me!"

"Padawan, you will listen to me." The Master's voice hardened in alarm. He could not lose the child of his heart, not this way.

"No, I won't. Not any more." Xanatos spat back, almost seething with anger. His eyes blackened to night, his glare intense, as he pushed the Jedi away. "You, you always demanding respect, going your own way without needing anyone, never listening to anyone, especially to a stupid apprentice that couldn't see what his Master really was. No wonder I was never quite good enough for the great Qui-Gon Jinn." He stopped for a moment, watching his Master flinch at the denunciation. "All you ever wanted was control."

The Padawan's bitter words were wielded with all the fine precision of an expert swordsman. Sweet memories of a shared life, twisted into ridicule and scorn. Xanatos almost seemed to enjoy hurting his old Master, watching with caustic satisfaction as each barb hit its mark.

And with every slander, the hope that Qui-Gon could somehow turn Xan around and make him see how wrong this was grew ever more bleak. He wanted to turn everything back somehow, make things right but there was no returning to the past. There was only living in the moment. "Padawan...."

Xan's voice turned to ice, more savage in the clipped sounds of flattened tone than ever in feverish fury. "No! No more. I am Xanatos duCrion, Prince of Telos and heir to the First House." With a look of utter contempt, he spat out, "And you... you are just a pathetic old man."

The air seemed to freeze then. The bitterly-cold denunciation caught at Qui-Gon and he could not breathe, could... not... breathe for the grief. It was not possible; his Xani could not abandon the Order. Not like this, not for a man who would manipulate his own son in death as well as he ever did in life. Please not like this....

But the moment did not change. He had failed, failed in his teaching, failed somehow in his love for the son in all but name, failed the Jedi.

He closed his eyes for an instant, gathering strength to do what must be done. Xani had made his decision and abandoned the Order. And a Jedi Master had a duty to the Republic no matter the cost to his own heart. Later, later he would deal with the bottomless sorrow. For now, there was only burden and duty and despair.

But Xanatos was not finished just yet. "There is one last thing, Master."

When Qui-Gon looked again with faith that there might still be a chance, however slim, to redeem his Padawan, duCrion just smiled, bitter and demanding. Sapphire eyes, colder than the depths of space, stared back. Xanatos stood there, gauging the Jedi's reaction, almost reveling in the vulnerable trust that shone in the Master's face, allowing the hope to build.

Xan nodded then, leaning down to scoop up his old lightsaber. The weapon was smeared in brown gore and he used shreds of lace to clean it. But the blood still clung in the grooved indentations, darkening the metal handle.

Finally satisfied, he turned the blade on, looking at it for a moment, his face all but unreadable, before he brought it up into ready position. Qui-Gon watched uncertainly as Xan's other hand grabbed the long, black braid, the mark of his life as a Jedi, and pulling it taut, sliced through it with one swift stroke.

Qui-Gon made a soft sound of protest but Xan's smirk only grew wider as he threw the braid down into the puddle of blood. "A gift for you, Master."

Jinn looked at him with something akin to horror and then glanced down at the slime-soaked hair. It took a few heartbeats but he finally rasped out, "So be it."

"Have you nothing more to say then, Qui-Gon? No final words of wisdom, no pleas for my return to the Jedi, no threats of retribution?" Xanatos snorted, then his eyes grew savage, brilliant blue in the firelight. His lightsaber swayed downward, pointing at the wet braid, and his voice was saturated in sarcasm. "No thanks for my generous gift... or am I worth so little?"

Qui-Gon continued to stare at the black-hair symbol of apprenticeship but his face had aged a dozen years. A flat murmur of denial and loss. "Jedi do not accept gifts. You know that, Xan."

"Not even from their own Padawan?" Playfully said in other times would have called for a teasing retort and an smile. But not now...

The Jedi looked up at that, his clouded eyes full of regret as he stared at the younger man. "Are you?" But he knew the answer before the question sounded. Xan's saber swayed for a moment, trembling remorse or anger or guilt; it was difficult to tell but his former apprentice remained stubbornly silent.

Sighing heavily, Qui-Gon grated out, "No, I didn't think so."

Xanatos drew back, his scathing glare almost brighter than the blue blade that still hummed in his hands. But the skin around his eyes grew white with tension; his fingers tightened around the saber handle, stark lines of bone and sinew told of his anger. The Force was aswirl in shredded tones of illumination and shadow. The very air seemed to thrum with anticipation.

"I am Heir of Telos. And more powerful than any Jedi. My father taught me that."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard. One thin drop of red trickled down the side of his mouth, the broken nose still dribbling blood. But he swiped at it absentmindedly, smearing color into his beard. He whispered, gentle and infinitely sad, "He must have taught you many things. Anger, fear, aggression, pride... They lead to the dark, Xan."

But duCrion would have none of gentleness. He spat back, "If so, you would have fallen long ago."

Qui-Gon could not bear to look at his old Padawan. Closing his eyes against the grief, he murmured, "Have you learned nothing from me, then?"

The sound of Xan's laughter was derisive, sharp and cutting as razored glass across flesh. And Qui-Gon looked at him once more with dismay.

"Yes, old man, I have. You taught me that love leads to hate."

Xanatos began to slash at the air before him, his buzzing saber swinging back and forth, as if it were a searing, luminescent snake trying to charm its victim into complacency before the fatal strike. His voice was full of malice. "That the Jedi will do anything they can to control their own, even kill an innocent man for it." The blade's tip stilled as he glanced down at the cold dead body slumped at the fire's edge. His eyes narrowed then, glaring bitter ice at the Jedi. "That no matter how much you wanted me to ignore my destiny, I was born to power and I'd be a fool to give it up for you or the Jedi."

Then he hissed at Jinn, "You taught me that power is everything and I will use it as I see fit."

The Jedi looked suddenly ill, nauseous and weak and full of despair. His face drained of life, turning sallow, then white, his blue eyes stark with denial, his mouth half-open with horror. He had not expected this... caustic hatred, not from the son of his heart.

But then he had always believed in Xan's goodness, even when warned by the others. So blinded by love that he could not see what was right before him - until it was too late.

He had barely the strength to whisper, "How could I be so mistaken about.... I should have listened. Master Yoda was right. He was right about you after all." And he buried his face in his hands, mourning the certainty that this boy, his Xani, would never return; all his hopes were as dust in the wind.

Xan stepped forward then, a frown cutting deep into his brow, the weeping wound on his cheek pulled taut with belligerence. Dagger-sharp and imperious, he demanded, "What do you mean by that?"

Qui-Gon looked up and shrugged helplessly, "It doesn't matter now." Numb, he tried to gather his strength; he knew that he must carry out his mission. He was a Jedi, a Knight of the Order that had lasted a thousand generations, a guardian of peace and justice. He would go on, he must go on, no matter the devastating cost to his own spirit. Later would be time enough to grieve.

Steadying his voice with some effort, Qui-Gon rasped out, "As your father's heir, I am sure that he shared his secrets with you."

But the younger man would not discuss such things, not when the Force was so clouded with dire warnings. He wanted to know, "What do you mean - that Yoda was right?"

The Jedi did not reply. The answer was no longer of any concern to him or so his mind told him. The heart was a different matter but he was ignoring it for the moment. He needed to know what happened to the money if his mission was to succeed. The people of Telos must have the funds to rebuild.

It was likely that the Monarch had been using his son as he had used everyone else and had told him nothing but the question must be asked. "Your father stole the most of the Treasury and has hidden it somewhere. Where is it, Xanatos?"

The lightsaber came up to point straight at Qui-Gon's still-bleeding nose. "I told you not to speak such filth of my father." When the Master said nothing else, just looked at the wavering tip of the deadly weapon almost with apathy, Xan's eyes gleamed in sapphire satisfaction. Apparently, he had wounded the Jedi to the heart with mere words. The utter indifference on Qui-Gon's face spoke volumes of his pain but it seemed that duCrion savored the bitter regret, almost feasted on it.

But Xan was nothing if not stubborn. Pausing between each word, emphatic, intensely focused on finding out just what had happened between the head of the Jedi Council and his Master, he growled out, "What... did... Yoda... say?"

Qui-Gon just shrugged. He did not want to think about how right Yoda had been. Did not want to think of anything but helping the Telosians to regain what was theirs. His own problems were nothing, mere trifles to the suffering of others. But, oh how it hurt if he would but let it. So he would not.

"He said that this was to be your last mission, that your arrogance and pride would be your undoing."

It had been spoken with such indifference that it took Xanatos a moment to realize what had been said. And then his anger began to swell, black and red turmoil in the currents of the Force, shadows sinking into his spirit once more. He spat back, "He talks of arrogance."

Qui-Gon blinked hard. He was startled at how much Xan seemed to care about things that were no longer of any concern to him. Slowly, he drifted away from the fireplace, giving himself distance from the distraught man, leaving room to maneuver should he need it. But Xan followed him, determined to find out the truth of this.

"Yoda warned me, said I was too blind to your faults. But when I insisted that you take the Trials when we returned, he said that you were to make your own choices on this mission without my guidance and live by them. I agreed to the conditions, of course. I thought you ...." Another shrug. "Yoda was right about you."

The stark lines on Xan's face were etched in acid and outrage as he sputtered out, "He... you set me up."

The Master looked at him in shock. That was never his intent and he could not believe that Xani would not understand that he wanted only the best for him. "No, I..."

"You set me up to fail."

The discordant hum of the searing blade, the tip swaying before Qui-Gon, seemed to rattle Xan's nerves. Fire and ice, the saber song was calling to him for use, to kill the one who had betrayed him, to give in to the dark call of power. He was shivering with the ache of it.

"This is... I never would have believed... you set me up."

The Force gave a sudden wail of warning, danger and corruption tainting the air. And Xanatos raised his saber high and brought it down, slicing hard through the space to tangle with the Master's blade.

The sizzling off-pitched whine echoed in the lavish room as Qui-Gon blocked the cut. He stepped sideways, further away from the fireplace. There was still not enough room to maneuver but, even as he moved toward the middle of the room, he was looking for a way to end this quickly. He did not want to hurt Xan, not when he was half-mad with anger.

A feigning stab and Xanatos growled as he pitched forward, trying to get under Jinn's defenses. The sabers took on a life of their own, blue against darker blue, sweeps of light that sliced the air.

"Stop, Xan, before it's too late. I..."

But the desperate shout was ignored as duCrion pressed in for the attack.

His saber was everywhere at once, almost too fast to follow as he swept high and low. He aimed for Jinn's legs, trying to get him to stumble but the tall Master just flew up, evading the intended strike and kicking out at the same time. Xan jerked backward, out of reach of the boot, and then ducked as the lightning-fast blade swiped the air above his head. A few black strands of cut hair floated down but the apprentice just batted them away. That was too close.

But Xanatos was not to be denied. He stumbled over the lifeless legs of his dead father, stabbing again at the Master. Qui-Gon bumped against the desk, almost gliding along its edge and then ducked as Xan's saber cut a deep gouge in the marlwood top. Splinters of super-heated wood shattered outward, peppering them both. The acrid smell of ozone and smoke permeated the room.

Jinn's eyes grew hard. It was clear that duCrion wanted nothing less than his life and he could not allow that. He began to push forward, his blue blade a globe of luminescence as he met Xan's searing light with his own. He knew of his old Padawan's weaknesses, and he began to exploit that knowledge.

Xan grew desperate as Jinn pushed him back and back. He hit the wall with a resounding thud, then scrambled past it just as the Jedi's lightsaber scored into the paneling. Twisting, evading, trying again and again to get a hit, somehow hurt the man who had once meant everything to him was becoming increasingly difficult to do. Finally, just as he slipped past Jinn's blade to slice at his leg, he overreached and skidded on the coagulated pool of blood under his feet. He went down hard, his lightsaber tumbling away just as Qui-Gon sliced through the handle. The destroyed weapon made a harsh metallic clang as it skipped across the hearth and rolled into the fire.

The Jedi stood above his fallen apprentice, lightsaber at Xan's throat. His almost-son lay in the oily brown blood, his sapphire eyes glaring up at him, daring him to strike. But Qui-Gon could not. He lowered the blade, then turned it off. And all grew quiet, except for the chaotic song of overheated durasteel from Xan's ruined saber and the merry crackle of burning wood.

"Do it, Master. Do it or I swear I will have my revenge." The hatred was blazing bright.

Qui-Gon just shook his head, his husky voice low and saturated with despair. "You are coming back with me, Xanatos."

"Pathetic old fool. Don't you realize that you've lost? I'll never been a Jedi. And you made me what I am. You and you alone."

"I..."

Qui-Gon never knew what he was going to say because at that moment, the fire-heated saber handle exploded in a shower of light and metal pieces. As he staggered back, Xanatos took advantage of the momentary lapse, swinging his leg hard into Jinn's knee. With an audible pop, the Jedi Master toppled onto the stone floor in agony, one leg askew.

Xanatos scrambled to his feet. Gathering the Force, he pulled at the logs in the burning fireplace, lifting them high into the air and then, with a great show of strength, drove them straight at the fallen Jedi. As Qui-Gon batted the fiery wood away, Xan ran to the door and glanced back to see his old Master watching his escape with agonized loss in his cloudy eyes.

"A word of advice, Master. Better watch your back from now on. Because I'll be there... waiting for the perfect moment to strike you down." And with one last savage glance, Xanatos was gone.

Stunned into silence, Qui-Gon sat there and gazed at the empty doorway. He was... he was... he wanted to be numb, to not feel. The agony of his knee, his broken nose now dripping once more with red, were as nothing to the anguish in his spirit. How had it come to this? How could the son of his heart turn so abruptly to the dark? And how could he ever accept it?

He did not know, he did not know.... but oh, how it hurt.

He stayed still for a very long time, seeing nothing, trying to feel nothing, ignoring the comforting smell of woodsmoke tantalizing the air and the snap-sizzle of burning coals. Not thinking of what he must do.

But, finally, knowing that others depended on his strength even if he could not, he started to move, turning slightly so that he could get to his feet without hurting his ruined leg further. But as he struggled forward, his palm slipped into the brown blood of duCrion's cold corpse.

With a grunt of pain, he abruptly sat down again - and found that his hand was tangled in the slime-soaked braid of his fallen apprentice. Gathering the matted hair in his shaking fingers, blinking in numb disbelief, he stared at the last remnant of his old life.

And Qui-Gon Jinn knew then, with perfect clarity, that he would never teach again.

Never.

The end.